


How My Light is Spent

by TiaLewise



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Aziraphale is Not Innocent (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley First Kiss (Good Omens), Blind Character, Blind Crowley (Good Omens), Body Worship, Brain Damage, Chubby Aziraphale (Good Omens), Disability, Drinking to forget that you're a literal pine tree in sunglasses, First Dates, First Time, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Head Injury, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oral Sex, Positive attitudes to disability, Possessive Crowley (Good Omens), References to past injuries, Rimming, Service Dogs, Switch Aziraphale (Good Omens), Switch Crowley (Good Omens), The Bentley is now a service dog called Bentley, Title from a sonnet by John Milton, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22838116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiaLewise/pseuds/TiaLewise
Summary: Navigating the dating world when you can't see it can be tricky. For Crowley, that was never a problem; he's usually too busy to contemplate a relationship. The same goes for Aziraphale, though he doesn't have Crowley's excuse - he just isn't really all that much into people as a whole.One chance meeting on Crowley's usual route home changes all that.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Anathema Device & Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Beelzebub & Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & The Them (Good Omens)
Comments: 578
Kudos: 1168
Collections: Bittersweet Good Omens, Good Omens Human AUs, Ineffable AUs, Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side, Shinbi34's Recommendations





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So hey folks, are you ready to read our loveable idiots throwing themselves at each other with no due restraint? Seriously, this is like the absolute opposite of a slow burn and will definitely earn its rating in Chapter 2. 
> 
> The first bits of this have already been posted on my Tumblr and were pretty well received, but that being said, I am very much a sighted person - bar a bit of myopia and astigmatism - and though I've done some extensive research, I still have functional sight and you need to call me out if anything I've written comes out incorrect or offensive, because I do not stand for my stuff being out there and ignorant. You can tell me in the comments or on Tumblr, I'm a big girl, I can take the flack.
> 
> With that, away we go!

There were three things that Anthony J Crowley strove for in his day-to-day life. The first was a strict absence of clutter in his living and working spaces. How people could get things done with so much _stuff_ around them was beyond him entirely.

The second, a well-planned routine. He needed to know what he was doing, where and how, at all times.

The third, a strong coffee at the end of the day. Some might have said that was the most important thing to him, and half the time, he wouldn’t disagree.

After finishing class, tidying away, and a quick meeting with a nervous student, Crowley went his usual route - onto the tube at Temple and off at Tottenham Court Road. Then it was a quick left turn onto Oxford Street and straight down on the left side of the pavement, past the construction works, and to the Whittards opposite the bus stop. On a good day the whole journey took no more than twenty minutes, but, well...London foot traffic and all that. It was one of the good days today, and Crowley stepped into the cafe at quarter to five on the dot. 

It sounded quiet, minimal chatter, very little clinking of cups and silverware, but he suspected that would change soon given the hour. He inhaled deeply and sighed. There wasn’t much better in the world than the rich scent of roasting coffee beans after a hard day’s work. Sheer bloody bliss. 

He tilted his head slightly at the rustle of cloth to his right, where he knew the counter to be. Heavier footfalls, slower gait, so…

“Hiya, Newt.”

A squeak and a muttered curse, then, “Bloody hell, AJ, how do you _do_ that?” Poor Newt sounded startled. Crowley never got tired of scaring the shit out of him; worked like a charm every time. Newt placed something on the counter with a _click_ as he came forward. “Your usual?”

“Yeah, cheers.”

“I’ll bring it over. There’s a seat free at the window.”

“Nice one. Bentley, left. There’s a love.” The young black labrador sat dutifully at Crowley’s feet immediately stood up and made her way through the chairs, stopping where the light became a little brighter through his dark glasses. “Good girl.” Crowley scratched behind Bentley’s ear, soft fur under his fingers, and felt her head turn, the wet rasp of an affectionate tongue against his wrist. 

He sat down, arranged his lanky sprawl of limbs, and leaned back, eyes closing in relaxation. Nothing else mattered now. This was his time, his moment. Destination: double espresso.

 _Smash._ Crowley winced at the sudden noise.

“Ah, _fu-_ u-udge!” Anathema, Newt’s girlfriend, was most definitely in a flap. Her voice became louder as she hurried onto the floor, heels tapping. “Newt, give me a hand, will you? I dropped a load of jars.”

“Oh, dear,” Newt said sympathetically.

“I know, I’m an idiot,” she moaned.

“No, you’re not, and I’ll be with you in just a minute - hang on - Aziraphale, can you take this? Thanks. Just over there. Be back soon.” 

As two pairs of footsteps clattered away, one more made its way over to Crowley’s table. Paused. A throat being cleared - a male voice, for sure. “Ah...excuse me? Where shall I, um…?”

Crowley turned in the speaker’s direction. He’d approached on smart-sounding shoes, Oxfords, probably, a hint of vanilla and old paper preceding him. His voice was soft and shy, but inviting, attached to someone either very well-educated or needlessly posh. Crowley hoped it was the former. He tapped the tabletop. “Anywhere’s fine, mate. I’ve got arms.”

“Oh, goodness, I didn’t mean - I just, um…” A gentle clatter of crockery on the table interrupted the speaker’s fluster. “I’m new, that’s all. First day, still finding my feet, as it were. Bit nervous. That smashing scared the living daylights out of me.”

“Sit down a minute,” Crowley said. “Nobody needs you right now.”

“How the - how do you-?”

“Haven’t heard the bell over the door ring since I came in and there’s no movement near the counter.” Crowley reached for his espresso, turned the cup so he could hook his middle finger through the handle, curved the remaining fingers around the bowl. “What did Newt call you?”

“Oh, um. Aziraphale.” God, this guy was practically a bundle of nerves on legs. “Old family name,” he carried on, his hand gestures creating tiny puffs of air over Crowley’s cheek. “Silly predisposition to name us all after-”

“Angels?” Crowley ventured, sipping his coffee.

Aziraphale heaved a sigh. “Yes.”

“No judgement from me, mate.” Crowley held out his free hand. “You can call me Crowley, and that’s Bentley there under the table.”

“Crowley? Is that your first name, or your surname?” Aziraphale shook his hand with a wide, soft palm.

“Can’t give all my secrets out at once, angel. Buy me dinner before all that, hm?” teased Crowley.

Aziraphale let out a scandalised gasp that had Crowley nearly spilling his coffee into his lap from laughter. 

Then,

“Perhaps I will.”

He did spill the coffee that time, though thankfully mostly onto the table, a few drops on his thighs. There was a flurry of shadowed movement as Aziraphale jumped up and started to clean away the spillage, stammering through profuse apologies. Crowley grabbed his arm, stilling him.

"I'm sorry," Aziraphale murmured. "Not sure what came over me."

"Hey, calm down. It's fine. Took me by surprise is all."

Crowley had the feeling Aziraphale's eyes were boring into his. "Did I assume wrongly?"

"No, but I'd be interested to know how you came to your conclusion," replied Crowley, steepling his fingers.

"Well, at the risk of stereotyping you...your fingernails are painted pink, and you're wearing a Progress Pride badge on your blazer."

Crowley felt at his lapel for the badge, the soft ridges of colour. "Forgot I had that, actually."

"It's very nice."

"Wouldn't know, can't see it for shit," Crowley grinned, sticking his tongue out. Aziraphale giggled politely and a warm rush of sudden affection bloomed in Crowley's chest. "You got a pen on you, angel?"

"Um…I did. A very nice one, actually. But…"

"Lost it already, have you?" 

"...Gave it away."

"You what?"

"I gave it away!" cried Aziraphale, probably wringing his hands and everything. "She was in _such_ a fluster, and she had a _deadline_ approaching, so I said "here you go, fancy pen, no need to thank me, and don't let the sun go down on you here."

The warmth reached Crowley's stomach, a huge smile plumping his usually thin cheeks as he pulled out his wallet and felt for his business cards. "Forget the pen. Here." He handed a card over. "Got my full name on it and everything. Lucky you, saved a fortune on dinner."

Aziraphale took it slowly. "Dr Anthony J Crowley," he read out loud. "You're a doctor?"

"Marvellous what a bit of Equality and Diversity does for the old job prospects. Yeah, I'm a physicist at King's."

"Marvellous indeed." Aziraphale's voice had taken on a slight breathiness for a moment, almost reverent in delivery. "What does the J stand for?"

"Erm. S'just a J, really."

"Well," replied Aziraphale, tucking the card away, "I would still be very much amenable to dinner, knowledge of first names or otherwise. If...if that's okay."

"Course it is."

"Then I will be sure to call you. Find out when we’re both available."

Crowley tapped a long finger against his cheek. "You'd best get back to the counter. Someone's getting up and heading over."

"Ah. So they are." Aziraphale sounded reluctant; a shift of shadow and a scrape of wood against stone as he stood up. "Well, dear fellow...till next time?"

"Looking forward to it, angel."

* * *

"Tell me everything!" Anathema demanded as they closed up the cafe. "I literally _require_ you to tell me every single little detail, I'm kicking myself that I wasn't there to see it!"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about," replied Aziraphale primly, busy wiping down tables and steadfastly not meeting her inquisitive eyes.

"Newt _heard_ you asking AJ to dinner, you sly bastard!" 

Aziraphale and Anathema were old friends. They ran in the same literary circles, both eager curators of ancient prophetic texts, and she had been a regular at his old bookshop. A few badly placed candles and a completely unnecessary fraud investigation later, she had set him up at the cafe and given him her spare room upstairs whilst he searched for a new place to live. He had protested, of course; no, I can't impose on you like that, you have a partner now, you need your privacy…

She told him to shut the fuck up and accept the damn offer, so he did, and was grateful beyond words for her generosity, not so much her penchant for nosiness. 

"He _is_ quite handsome, isn't he?" smirked Anathema. 

"Yes. Quite."

"Clever, too."

"Mm."

"And you know what they say about redheads in the sack, don't you?"

Aziraphale spluttered out an incredulous, "A-Anathema! Really!" He turned away and started straightening chairs. "This is highly inappropriate."

She threw an arm round his shoulders and squeezed him. "Nothing's inappropriate between you and me, Zira. Especially when it comes to your love life."

"You," Aziraphale sighed, leaning his head against hers, "are a meddling, godforsaken, downright intrusive little witch."

"I know. Love you too," she grinned.

"Get a bottle of wine into me and I'll talk."

"Deal!"

As a rule, Aziraphale was not a man who approached others. He had always been shy, preferring to withdraw into his books as a child rather than play outside with peers. Now in his early thirties, not much had changed, but he found it easier to make friends as an adult, provided they came to him first. 

He had approached Crowley because he had to, of course; he was a customer, and Aziraphale had been asked to serve him. He wasn't, however, counting on the man being warm, open, funny, and _devastatingly sodding attractive._ Watching those long, delicate, pink-tipped fingers handle a coffee cup did all sorts of funny things to Aziraphale's stomach - and brain, obviously, since he had asked the man out almost on the bloody spot. 

Now, several glasses of chianti later, he was spilling all his convoluted emotions to a smirking Anathema, who sat opposite him on the couch in their shared flat, feet tucked up beneath her as she greedily lapped up every last drop of rambling, half-drunk information.

"-and honestly, what demon did he sell his soul to to even _fit_ into trousers that tight? Positively indecent, my dear. It should be illegal to, to, to look so _good_ like that. Soon as I saw that badge I was done for, wasn't I? I didn't stand a chance. And on the job, too!" He put his head in his hands and groaned. "Lord in heaven, _why_ did I just throw myself at him like a starving bloody mutt? He's already got one of those, he doesn't need me as well."

Anathema rested her head on her hand, eyes sparkling. "Holy crap, you really are smitten."

"Why am I like this, Anathema?" Aziraphale pitched forwards, sporting a sulking pout as his head landed in her lap. "Why am I a complete mess?"

"To be fair," she reasoned, and started petting his hair, "he is stupidly good-looking, so I don't blame you for going all Casanova. Even Newt thinks he’s cute." She giggled at her tipsy rhyme.

"I thought I was going to offend him constantly. You know. The whole, you know. The thingy."

"Stop _worrying_ so much, dammit. Let yourself have nice things for once in your life." She bent over to kiss his cheek. "Call him over the weekend. You'll have had a few days to think it all through then."

Aziraphale twisted onto his side, gazing up at Anathema. "You give the best advice."

She grinned. "Not bad for an intrusive little witch, eh?"

"Is there more wine?"

"Oh, hon, you bet your ass there is." 

Crowley would be the least of Aziraphale's worries come morning, if the impending hangover had anything to say about it. At least he had the day off work.

* * *

Crowley always found he was more productive in his office on campus than at home. It might have been to do with the fact the coffee machine in his office was only a few steps from his desk, or that his computer was a bit faster than his home laptop; if asked, though, he would probably tell you, “Well, I made the mistake of giving all my students my _personal_ phone number, and once they all start texting me in a panic about whatever, I’d rather already be here to help them out.”

So, there he was - in his office, on a Saturday afternoon, marking essays with the lights off and the blinds drawn. His reader, Tracy, had already checked them over in the week for punctuation and grammar, and then the documents came to him, ready for his scrutiny of general content and structure. They tended to check references together, though. He could easily do it himself, but it was a good way to keep them both working together, in a physical sense. They’d meet up after classes on the coming Monday. For now, he was alone, save for Bentley who was snoozing on the floor at his feet.

Productivity, however, was practically at a standstill, and it was all the fault of one rather fussy angel who had given away his very fancy pen. Crowley hadn’t stopped thinking about him since they met. His polite demeanour, soft voice, the scent of esoteric knowledge that surrounded him. Crowley had very set interests, and dating usually wasn’t one of them, but Aziraphale had managed to turn that on its head with one short meeting and a slight spill of coffee.

He hadn’t called yet. Crowley really fucking hoped he would. And like magic, his phone went off. Bentley lifted her head, snuffling against Crowley’s calf as he reached for his phone with a smile. 

“Yeah, this is Crowley.”

“AJ!” Nope, that definitely wasn’t Aziraphale. His heart sank a little. “Are you around? We need to talk about the dissertation.”

“Yeah, I’m in my -” He frowned in the direction of the door. “You’re right outside, aren’t you.”

“Yup.”

He sighed. “Right. S’unlocked, just flick the-”

“-Lights on as you come in?” Adam Young came through the door with his usual casual, loping stride, turning on the lights as he went. The shuffling behind him almost certainly meant that Pepper, Wensley, and Brian had piled in as well. The four of them never went anywhere alone, like girls using the bathroom (Crowley had once jokingly said that to Pepper and she’d made a sound very much like someone wanting to throw a punch. He didn’t make that mistake again). 

The Them - the silly name their group had been given almost from Day One - took their usual seats on the well-worn couch perpendicular to the desk, and Bentley immediately jumped on them for slobbery, “I’m-not-working-so-you-can-pet-me” kisses. Crowley couldn’t help but crack a smile at the delighted squeals and laughter. “Right then, you lot,” he said. “What’s bugging you?”

“Actually, it’s not so much _bugging_ as something we were considering,” piped up Wensley.

“We’ve exhausted most of our options,” Pepper interjected. “Seems like everyone else has chosen what they’re going to write about, and here we are, stuck at square one still.”

“What is it you’re considering, then?” Crowley asked, scratching an itch beneath his glasses.

“Well,” said Brian, “we thought maybe-”

“We wanna do it as a group.” Adam had a bit of a ringleader’s reputation and an unfortunate habit of cutting off his group, but they never seemed to mind too much. Now was no exception, judging by the noises of agreement they all made. 

After a slight pause, Crowley held out his hands. “Go on.”

“See, here’s the thing,” said Adam, “we work better together, you know that. Just like you work better in the dark. That’s just how it works for us. On our own we’re struggling, but together we’ve come up with loads of ideas for what we could research if we can do it as a group. There’s other unis that do it. My sister went to Huddersfield and all their Human Sciences students pool together in one big-”

“Alright, I get it,” Crowley jumped in. “You got these ideas to hand so I can take a look?”

“I’ll email them to you now,” said Brian. 

It was true, the Them _did_ work better together, and he couldn’t see any reason why they couldn’t go ahead with their proposition. Crowley’s computer pinged and he turned to read the sent document, fingers moving quickly over the braille terminal in his lap. He didn't use the thing often, preferring the software on the computer that read everything out to him, but he had quickly learned that students were easily embarrassed hearing their own works read out loud by a silly robotic voice; ergo, he used the braille terminal around students, pain in the arse though it was. When _were_ the RNIB going to see the potential in Moon Type?

The abstracts the Them presented were sound and well thought-out, especially the one concerning the effects of Betelgeuse going supernova in the near distant future. Wasn’t entirely his call to make, though. He frowned, tongue between his teeth. He’d have to take it to the Dean. “Right. I reckon I can-” His phone went off and he reached across the desk for it, holding up a finger in the Them’s general direction. “One sec, guys - just lemme - yeah, it’s Crowley.” 

No immediate response. His frown deepened further. “Uh. Hello?”

_“Oh, goodness me! I’m sorry. Got a bit nervous there for a minute. It’s, um. It’s me. Aziraphale.”_

“Angel! I was wondering if you’d call.” Crowley spun his chair around a little in hopes that the Them wouldn’t see the overjoyed smile running rampant across his face. “How are you getting on?”

_“Well enough, dear fellow. Can you talk?”_

“Yeah, I’m not busy,” he replied, ignoring Pepper’s indignant noise behind him. “What’s up?”

_“Well, I know it’s short notice, but are you available tonight?”_

“Absolutely, angel. So,” and he allowed a little sultriness into his voice, “where are we going?” He suppressed a chuckle at Aziraphale’s resulting squeak.

_“U-Um. Have you visited “Hush” before?”_

“Can’t say I have. Heard good things, though. Not far from home, either. Convenient.” 

_“For us both,”_ Aziraphale said, a clear smile in his voice. Crowley ignored the wadded up ball of paper that hit him on the head as Aziraphale continued, _“I actually reserved the table yesterday. Got a bit ahead of myself, really. But I’m glad you’re agreeable.”_

“For you, angel, course I am. Shall I meet you there?”

 _“Yes. I don’t drive, you see, otherwise I would happily pick you up.”_ There was some distant shouting on Aziraphale’s end, and he suddenly dropped his voice to whisper, _“I’m sorry, my dear, but Anathema is calling me. I have to go - reservation is for 9! Pip-pip!”_

The phone went dead, and Crowley slowly put it down, brows furrowed so hard they might as well have joined together. Who the _fuck_ even said “pip-pip” like it was a normal thing? And why was it so fucking _cute?_

He turned back towards the Them, who had suddenly gone very silent considering they had been throwing things at him the whole phone call. “Sorry about that. Right. So, your dissertation, yeah? Your abstra-”

“No!” shouted Adam suddenly, prompting Bentley to hop down off the couch and slink back under the desk. “Nononono! You do _not_ get to just organise a date _right in front of us_ and not give us the deets!”

“AJ, you _have_ to,” Brian pleaded.

“You actually do,” agreed Wensley. Pepper just laughed over the top of all of them.

“Fuck.” Crowley took off his glasses and rubbed sourly at his eyes. “Remind me never to take phone calls in front of you lot again. And it’s not a date, so shut up.” The Them spluttered in objection. _“Not_ that it’s any of your bloody business, anyway, you nosy buggers!”

“Not a date,” mused Adam. “Right...just two guys, having dinner, sitting five feet apart ‘cause they’re not gay?”

“But they were _boyfriends!”_ chimed Pepper.

“Oh my god, they were boyfriends!” chorused Brian and Wensley.

“I do not get paid enough for this shit,” Crowley muttered to Bentley, who licked his knee without a care in the world. Not for the first time, he wondered if he should have gone on to teach _actual_ children.

They were right, though.

It was totally a date, and his heart was singing with joy at the thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
>   
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
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	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grab your fans, people - it's getting steamy in here.
> 
> ***Edited on October 29th 2020 for better speech flow and correction of minor errors.***

They both arrived around the same time, which Aziraphale greatly appreciated. He had a habit of turning up too early to gatherings, hanging around on his own for too long, sticking out like a sore thumb. But Crowley, right on time, sauntered over to him as if he knew exactly where he was standing, a bright-eyed Bentley loping along to his left.

"Evening, angel!"

"My dear." Aziraphale clasped Crowley's free hand as he came closer. "I am glad you could join me." 

"Wouldn't have missed it for the world," Crowley replied, grinning as their hands pulled away.

"Charmer." Aziraphale looked him up and down. "You look especially lovely tonight."

"Thanks, I dressed myself and everything," said Crowley with a clear wink behind his glasses. He did cut quite the dashing figure, all rakish angles in a blood-red shirt and black three-piece. The tight trousers hugged his legs snugly, and one's face was practically visible in the shine on Crowley's snakeskin shoes. He had clearly gone to a lot of effort with his appearance. "I'm sure you look good too, angel," Crowley said, free hand resting on his hip. "You'll have to give me a description, but once we're inside, yeah? Not being funny, but I'm freezing my balls off out here."

It _was_ rather cold, though Aziraphale's face was rapidly turning a heated scarlet at the idea of describing his outfit to Crowley. "Quite. I'll just get the door for us. Are you okay coming through yourself?"

"I'll hold your arm a moment, if that's alright. Unfamiliar place and all that."

"Of course, my dear." Aziraphale had done his research beforehand, and pressed the back of his hand to the back of Crowley's free right hand. Straight away Crowley's fingers slid up his arm to grasp at the crook of his elbow, holding firmly but not tightly. He let go of Bentley's harness with his left hand, leaving her on her regular leash. "Are you ready?" Aziraphale asked.

"Yup."

When Aziraphale made the table reservation, he had been sure to inform the establishment that his dining partner was sight impaired. He was glad to see that the staff inside treated Crowley and Bentley like they would any other patron, and showed them to their table, Aziraphale guiding Crowley across the restaurant floor and to a chair with a confident ease that surprised himself. "You're a natural, angel," Crowley remarked once they were seated, Bentley tucked in at their feet. "You wouldn't believe the number of people who just grab your hand and pull you without so much as asking."

"Terribly rude behaviour," Aziraphale scowled, fussing with his napkin, "and dare I venture, very uncomfortable for you?"

"Yup. S'part of the reason I stick to routes and places I know."

"I'm very sorry, my dear."

Crowley chuckled, much to his surprise. "Don't be sorry, you daft thing." 

A waitress brought menus over and took their drink orders, to which they both settled on a whiskey cocktail. As she left, Aziraphale placed a menu before Crowley. "I thought it best to ask for a menu you could read a little easier," he said. "The staff were very accommodating and provided us with one in braille, and also-"

Crowley bit his lip and swallowed visibly. Aziraphale backpedaled, "O-Or if that isn't - I'm sorry - did I assume-?"

"No, I…" Crowley ran gentle fingertips over the raised cells on the menu, a hint of colour rising on his cheeks. "Thank you." His voice hitched slightly. "I didn't even...that was thoughtful of you. Thank you, really."

Aziraphale relaxed. "Oh, I _am_ glad. I keep worrying that I'm doing the wrong thing, you see. I've not...well, I haven't really met anybody with...you know..."

Crowley lifted his head slightly, face turned towards Aziraphale, and sighed. With one hand still on the menu, he lifted the other and slowly removed his glasses, slipping them into the front pocket of his shirt. Aziraphale gasped. He wasn't sure what he expected - clouded pupils, perhaps, or a somewhat blank gaze - but in the low light, Crowley's eyes were clear and focused, save for a slight back-and-forth motion ( _nystagmus,_ Aziraphale recalled), and his irises were a lovely shade of golden brown. Aziraphale could barely tear his own eyes from Crowley's long enough to take a hurried gulp of whiskey, suddenly feeling quite flustered. 

"Don't tiptoe around me, Aziraphale. Please. I know you're better than that."

Aziraphale froze, tumbler of whiskey halfway to his mouth, heart suddenly pounding, and not in a nice way. _I've upset him,_ he realised, and immediately felt terrible for it. Of _course_ Crowley wouldn't like his condition skirted around like it wasn't a part of him. What had he been _thinking?_

"Look, it's okay," Crowley continued, interrupting his self-deprecating litany of thought. "You can say it. I say it all the time. I'm blind, angel. S'not a dirty word or anything, it just what it is. Yeah, it fucking sucked at first, but I'm a big boy now, and I've learned to deal with it." He shrugged. "It doesn't bother me nearly as much as it bothers other people." 

Aziraphale swallowed past the guilt-ridden lump in his throat. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'll do my best not to make the same mistake again."

"Hey, it's cool. Everyone's gotta start somewhere, and I know you meant well." Crowley's hands crossed over on the table, fingers drumming quietly. "Better to have gotten it out of the way now, because I know you'll keep worrying about offending me otherwise, and self-pity isn't a good look on anyone."

"How is it," Aziraphale near-whispered, "that you always seem to know what I'm thinking?"

Smiling gently, Crowley extended a hand across the table. Aziraphale took it, fingers lacing together. "Been doing this a long time." He squeezed Aziraphale's hand, neither making any move to pull back. "I'm not easily offended, in any case, so settle down, angel. Let's enjoy tonight."

After placing - and receiving - their food orders, plus a few more drinks, the talk began to flow much easier. Aziraphale discovered that Crowley loved old comedies, particularly _Golden Girls, Cheers,_ and _Blackadder,_ and that his favourite band was Queen. "Never saw them live, was too young for that," Crowley said between careful bites of pork belly, "but Freddie was my absolute idol growing up. Still is, to an extent, and I own way too many Queen t-shirts."

"One can never have too many of the things they truly love in life." Aziraphale, whose own musical preferences ran no more modern than Benjamin Britten, nonetheless understood the rapt devotion in Crowley's voice as he waxed lyrical about his childhood hero. His own attention was focused quite solidly on the way Crowley handled his cutlery, lifting small pieces of his meal to his mouth without a single spill, the way his lips closed around the tines of his fork. The fact he couldn't see Aziraphale staring was definitely working in his favour.

"Right, I've talked enough," Crowley said eventually. "Tell me about yourself."

What was there to tell, really? Aziraphale knew he wasn't an interesting person. He had owned a business, that was now smoke and ashes by his own idiotic hands; he was stuffy, and fussy, and fat, and Anathema despaired at how untidy he was, and he might have been more comfortable had he been born in the 1950s…

Instead, he said, "Well, I quite like books."

"Books," Crowley repeated. Aziraphale made a quiet noise of assent and stared fixedly at his plate. "I liked Tolkien, growing up. What do you read?"

Aziraphale looked up, realising he wasn't being judged badly. "Oh. Um. Old stuff, mostly. Wilde, Milton, Shakespeare-"

"I bet you like the gloomy ones. Shakespeare, I mean. Fan of Hamlet?"

"It's my favourite, actually," said Aziraphale primly, and Crowley mock-groaned. "Now, my dear, I didn't make a face at your musical tastes!"

"How would I have known? I can't see your face," Crowley winked. "I'm messing with you, anyway. Hamlet's all right. Still prefer the funny ones, but it's all right. Now, angel…" Crowley felt across the table for his whiskey and knocked back the remaining liquid. "I believe I'm owed a sartorial description. Or," and he suddenly smirked, nose crinkling adorably, "to put it in more crude terms...what're you wearing?"

Goodness, it was hot in this place. 

"U-Um."

"Look, don't make me do the whole "lemme feel you" thing. Which, by the way, absolutely none of us lot ever actually do."

"...Alright." Aziraphale composed himself, took a few deep breaths. "Well, I...I am quite partial to...that is to say...I have a lot of bow ties. I'm wearing one now. It's blue and cream tartan."

"Tartan?" Crowley lifted an eyebrow.

"It's stylish. I think." Aziraphale squirmed a little.

"Okay. So, bow tie. I felt a jacket when you were guiding me-"

"More a frock coat, really…"

"-And correct me if I'm wrong, but I heard something clinking around your abdomen as we walked, and that suggests you have a pocket watch, which makes me think waistcoat, which makes me conclude - given the aforementioned frock coat - that you're a morning dress kind of guy, and going off of your bow tie, your shirt is probably blue and the suit some sort of brown or cream."

Aziraphale was utterly floored.

"Well? Am I on the right lines?"

More deep breaths were required before Aziraphale could speak again. "I-I daresay, I didn't need to describe anything at all. Bravo, my dear." 

"Can I feel the pocket watch?"

"Of course." Aziraphale handed it over, and watched how Crowley carefully traced over it, inspecting the symbols adorning it.

"Wings, I think? Hang on... _angel wings?"_ His face split into a wide grin. "Oh, you are so damn _cute."_

Aziraphale let out a splutter. "I am nothing of the sort." He was right about the wings, though.

"What colour's your hair?"

"I'm sorry?"

"Your hair. What colour is it?"

"Oh. Um. White-blonde." Aziraphale ran a nervous hand through the downy curls, unconsciously tidying them.

"That your natural colour?"

"Yes, it is."

Crowley held out the pocket watch, that lovely tinge of pink high on his cheeks again. "Hair like a halo," he murmured. "You really are an angel."

This was flirting, wasn't it? It was definitely flirting. Aziraphale had been out of the dating game for a while, but Crowley's tone was more than mere flattery. No, he genuinely seemed interested in Aziraphale. Perhaps, Aziraphale thought, the night would end with...no, no. Best not get ahead of himself. 

Their meal concluded with a light dessert on Aziraphale's end, Crowley content to nurse a black coffee while scratching absently behind Bentley's ear. He offered to split the bill, which Aziraphale shot down firmly; Crowley conceded with an amused eye roll and a smirk. "But," he said, after the bill was settled and they were stepping out into the street, Aziraphale guiding him again, "I pay next time. S'only fair."

"Next time," mused Aziraphale. "I like the sound of that. I was terribly worried I would bore you senseless."

Crowley tightened his fingers a touch around Aziraphale's arm. His glasses were back on now, to Aziraphale's slight disappointment. "I doubt you could ever be boring."

"O-Oh. Thank you." 

"You're welcome."

"Shall I walk you home?"

"Sure. I, uh... can't really talk during, though, 'cept to direct Bentley. Knocks my focus otherwise. That alright with you?"

"Of course it is," replied Aziraphale softly. Crowley smiled at him, released his arm, and murmured a quiet "forward" to Bentley.

They walked through the darkened Mayfair streets, silent but for Crowley's gentle directions to Bentley. Watching them work together was fascinating. Bentley appeared to barely need verbal commands past a certain point, turning and leading Crowley like she already knew the way. Perhaps she did, Aziraphale thought, following a pace or two behind his companion. Crowley was obviously a man who fought not to be defined solely by his condition, he had made that clear over dinner, and Aziraphale was in awe of him, the way he navigated and overcame the obstacles in the way of his life. It felt like a privilege that Aziraphale had even been allowed to observe. 

"Still there, angel?" Crowley called out.

"Yes, my dear!"

"Good. Right, here we are."

They had stopped in front of an apartment complex on the outskirts of Mayfair. Crowley felt for the keypad on the wall and tapped in a code, then pushed open the door. "After you."

Aziraphale stepped through, suddenly rather nervous. They were so close to Crowley's home now. The end of their date. There were _expectations_ after a date, weren't there? Especially after one they had both very much enjoyed. He didn't know what he should do. What Crowley would want to do.

"Which floor?" 

"Ground, thank fuck." Bentley was already taking Crowley past Aziraphale and towards their ultimate destination - which turned out to be the third door on the left. 

They stopped again, falling silent. 

"So…" Crowley murmured, fidgeting with a button on his waistcoat. "I enjoyed myself a lot tonight."

Aziraphale smiled. "The pleasure was all mine, my dear."

"And, um...well…" Crowley looked about as nervous as Aziraphale felt. A series of unintelligible noises came from Crowley as he stumbled through his words, none making very much sense. 

It fell, then, to Aziraphale; he stepped forward, hand extending to grasp Crowley's carefully, not wanting to shock him. They were as close as they had been when he had guided Crowley across the restaurant, but now face to face, and Aziraphale saw himself mirrored in Crowley's glasses, his own frightened expression - but he knew what he wanted. What Crowley wanted, but couldn't say.

"May I kiss you goodnight?"

Another wordless noise spilled from Crowley. He nodded jerkily, before managing a stammered, "Y-Yeah. Okay."

Aziraphale smiled, released Crowley's hand to slide up his arm, fingers resting on a bony shoulder. Took a deep breath...and leaned in.

Their lips met, soft and tender, and it was everything Aziraphale could have hoped for in a post-date kiss. How long had it been since the last time? He didn't care. That was then, and this was now, and Crowley tasted of coffee and whiskey, his lips roughened by the cold weather, the barest hint of stubble prickling Aziraphale's fingers when he lifted a hand to ghost trembling fingers over Crowley's jaw. Up close Aziraphale could smell the pine-and-woodsmoke notes of Crowley's cologne as he lost himself in the kiss, lips parting further and gladly accepting the questioning tongue that swept across his bottom lip, shuddering through a gasp when a long-fingered hand clutched at his waist. 

"Shit-" Crowley pulled back, sounding winded. He pressed his forehead to Aziraphale's, clinging to him, barely any space left between them. Pressed up as they were, the tell-tale signs of Crowley's arousal was impossible to mistake, and Aziraphale fared no better. 

"D'you…" Crowley panted, "wanna come inside?"

"For…coffee?" chanced Aziraphale. He had to be sure. Had to make sure they were on the same page.

"Is that what you want?" 

Aziraphale shook his head. "No."

"What _do_ you want?"

No more chancing, no more hesitation. It all came down to this, and it was the easiest question in the world to answer. _"You,"_ Aziraphale whispered, sealing his mouth over Crowley's once more.

* * *

Crowley had been disoriented upon entering his flat a handful of times. Migraines were usually the culprit, or the unfamiliarity of the place, the first few weeks after moving in, anyway.

He had _not,_ until now, stumbled into his home so horny that he could barely _walk,_ let alone compose a coherent thought. 

Well, there was a first time for everything. 

He let go of Bentley's harness as he surged forward, shoving Aziraphale bodily against the door the second it closed behind him. They devoured each others' mouths like men starving, which, he supposed, they were. Starving for each other, gluttonous with the need to sate their lust. Aziraphale's hair was cloud-soft under his hands, and curly, he realised, as his fingers tightened at the nape and tugged, releasing a whine from Aziraphale. Warm, sweet-tasting lips moved against his with increasing urgency, their hips beginning to roll, to rock, to writhe. 

"Bedroom," Aziraphale whispered, and Crowley tore himself away to quickly unclip Bentley's harness, letting it drop carelessly to the floor. He'd probably trip over it later, but he didn't care, as he fumbled for Aziraphale's wrist and grabbed it firmly. He dragged Aziraphale down the hall, free hand feeling the way. 

Fuck, this was really happening. All fucking _night_ he'd been listening to Aziraphale make obscene little noises as he ate, hums and moans and whatever else, and Crowley had wanted him making those noises in his bed. It was happening now, and he thanked whatever metaphorical deity that was out there for the privilege. 

Standing at the foot of the bed, their kisses grew slow and deep as they undressed each other. Crowley shivered when his shirt and waistcoat parted, cool air against his torso, plump fingers tracing the skinny length of him. He shrugged out of the bothersome material, tossed his blazer and Aziraphale's bow tie aside to go with them. Shoes and socks were kicked off, Crowley's belt unbuckled, and Aziraphale, to Crowley's utter delight, wore _braces_ under his waistcoat. _"Fuck,_ angel," he groaned, feeling the taut length of them.

"You...like them?" Aziraphale sounded a little puzzled, even as he worked on the button and zip of the needlessly tight trousers imprisoning Crowley's burgeoning erection. His knuckles brushed against him as the zip came down and Crowley almost toppled against him with a frankly embarrassing whimper. 

Then, finally, fucking _finally,_ they were bared completely to each other, coming together in a hot press of mouth and even hotter skin against skin. Aziraphale was generous and plush. Hills and valleys of warm flesh rippled under Crowley's exploring fingers, and he wanted to kiss every one, kiss and bite and suck his mark into them. He pulled back from Aziraphale's mouth and moved to kiss his neck, thunderous pulse pounding against his lips. "You're beautiful, angel," he murmured.

A slight nervous laugh came from Aziraphale. "I'm...really not."

"You _are."_ Crowley fumbled for Aziraphale's hand, pressed it firmly against his cock. "Feel that? Feel what you're doing to me? I don't need to see you to know how fucking gorgeous you are."

Aziraphale whimpered. "C-Crowley…"

"I'll show you how much I want you. Will that be enough? For me to worship your whole body?" Crowley nipped his neck and relished his breathy gasp. "Get on the bed, angel. Let me show you."

Crowley had, in the past, been asked several times, "how do you find out what you're attracted to, if you can't see?" His answer, after scoffing heartily, had always been, "with experience." He knew what he liked. He liked bigger men, men he could grab great handfuls of. He liked body hair; chest hair that he could drag his nails through, untamed pubic curls that held the sweet scent of arousal. He liked kindness, and clever minds with good taste in alcohol, and respect for his independence.

He didn't need his eyes to know that Aziraphale was everything he wanted. 

And now Aziraphale was in his bed, writhing and making all those sweet, heavenly little sounds as Crowley adored every inch of him. He moaned as his nipples were sucked into stiff peaks, Crowley's hands kneading the swells of flesh around them. He hummed and sighed as Crowley covered his belly in kisses and stroked reverent fingers over it, nails catching in all the hair he so loved. He whimpered as Crowley spread his thick thighs and nosed his way up the insides, licking and nipping and breathing in the heady scent of him. And when Crowley went down on him, taking his cock to the base, curls tickling his nose, Aziraphale all but _shouted._ His fingers dug into Crowley's hair and he bucked his hips up and gasped out, "Oh, my - oh, _darling,_ that's so good, I - oh, _oh!"_

That was another thing Crowley liked - reducing his partners to a shaking, babbling mess. He'd barely even started with Aziraphale, and damn, if it didn't feel good to know he was doing his job right. He pulled back and wiped spit from his chin. "D'you believe me now, angel?"

A few heaving breaths, then Aziraphale spoke, sounding hoarse. "I'm not quite sure. Perhaps I...still require a little more convincing?" 

Crowley grinned wickedly. Oh, the bastard, the wonderful bastard. Aziraphale knew _exactly_ what he was doing with those words. If he wanted to play that game, well, Crowley was only too willing to indulge him. 

"Alright. Turn over," and Aziraphale did so without any hesitation. "Knees up a little." Crowley rose and draped himself over Aziraphale's trembling form, pressing kisses to his shoulder blades, nails scraping down his arms, his sides, digging in at those gorgeous love handles. His cock pressed into the cleft of Aziraphale's arse, nestled there quite comfortably. Crowley kissed behind his ear and gave the lobe a slight tug with his teeth. "Is this alright?"

"Y-Yes," came the breathless reply beneath him.

"You sure?"

Aziraphale turned his head slightly beneath Crowley's gentle lips, nuzzled his cheek with the clear feel of a smile. "I'll tell you if I'm not comfortable, darling."

Crowley drew back a little. "Good." _Darling._ He could definitely get used to that, he thought, as he began trailing his kisses down the length of Aziraphale's spine. There was hair here, too; finer, not quite as coarse, but just as lovely under his lips and fingers as the rest. The whole way down Aziraphale groaned and squirmed, plush buttocks grinding into Crowley's hips. 

Then Crowley spread his cheeks wide, and he squeaked, suddenly muffled in a way that Crowley knew meant he had hidden his face in a pillow. Oh, his sweet, embarrassed angel. Crowley adored him already. Chuckling, he alighted a kiss to each quivering cheek - and moved in for the kill.

Aziraphale _screamed_ at the first brush of tongue against his hole, his whole body shaking. _"Oh!"_ he cried out, _"oh_ , _don't stop, don't stop, please, please, please -"_

Crowley groaned into the soft heat of him, cock so fucking hard he might split apart, hips grinding into the soft bedding to alleviate the ache as he licked and sucked at Aziraphale, slicking and loosening him, tasting arousal on his skin and scenting it on the air. He rubbed the pad of a thumb over the soft perineum, pressed gently, drank in the impassioned whine above him. "Fucking _love_ your arse," Crowley sighed, blissful beyond his wildest dreams. He squeezed each buttock and added a nip for good measure, grinning at Aziraphale's surprised yelp. "There's so _much_ of you. Fuck. What do you want, angel? Anything, I'll do it."

For a while, there was only their ragged breathing, no speech. Aziraphale didn't move, save for the trembling of his body. Crowley stroked the back of one gorgeous thigh while he waited.

Then,

"Fuck me."

Crowley's head snapped up. "What?"

"I said, fuck me," Aziraphale growled, and Crowley nearly came on the spot just from that demanding tone, let alone the swearing. God, the _swearing._ "But let me turn back around. I want to kiss you."

"You wanna kiss this filthy mouth?" Crowley feigned a pearl-clutching shock, but Aziraphale flipped over and dragged him in for a bruising kiss and sucked on his tongue like it hadn't just been literally inside him, and it took _everything_ not to just rut against him until they exploded between their bellies. 

Aziraphale bit his lower lip. "Shut up and _fuck_ me, you tease."

"Anything. Anything, fuck." Crowley nearly fell off the bed in his frantic scramble for the bedside drawer. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the cliffhanger.
> 
> Actually, no. I'm not sorry at all. 😇
> 
> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
> 
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	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for bearing with me whilst I worked on this chapter. Things have been a bit rough for me. Four residents at the care home I work at passed away in the space of 48 hours. They were all expected, but it doesn't make it any easier to handle, especially when you've known them a while. Carers detach as much as they can, but at the end of the day, we're still human, and those we look after often become our friends as well as clients. So I've needed some time to think, and to rest, and I'm getting back on track thanks to a supportive friend circle and an adjustment to my medication. 
> 
> Hopefully this chapter will be to your liking - and it will introduce a close friend of Crowley's, whose role will be expanded on in the next update.
> 
> I may be adding a fifth chapter to this, depending on where the plot takes me, but for now, please enjoy some more smut!

* * *

"Christ, angel. I'm barely halfway in and you sound ready to come." 

Aziraphale squirmed, whimpering, muscles quivering and fluttering with urgent desire. He felt so _full._ Flashes of electricity ran up and down his spine, a scalding fire kindling deep in the pit of his stomach. He liked it, liked the stretch, the slight burn, a reminder one was truly alive. 

Above him, Crowley rocked gently back and forth, sinking deeper, deeper...another whimper burst from Aziraphale before he could stifle it. For all his earlier bravado, it really had been a long time since he’d been with anybody, and he knew he was tight and unyielding, even with a thorough prepping, the soft slip of lubrication, the unspoken question of a square bit of foil, held out in Crowley’s palm. 

_"Naturally, my dear."_

_"Here...put it on me? ...Mm. Oh, your fingers are..."_

Yes, it had helped, it had, but, _oh..._ another hot spark lanced through him and he keened, back arching, air cool on his heated skin.

"You're doing so well." Crowley stroked his hips and thighs, murmuring in a soft tone that juxtaposed his countenance; the man looked utterly wrecked, lips glowing pink and bitten, a beautiful flush creeping across his chest, red as the sweat-damp hair plastered to his alabaster brow. Aziraphale was rarely a person pushed to a loss for words, but in the face of such splendour, he might have considered himself well and truly silenced. 

"Can you take the rest of me?" Crowley asked, voice hoarse with need. 

Aziraphale's blood ran hot and wild as he gasped out an affirmative - and then oh, _oh, yes - !_

“Jesus fuck, I can’t even - god, you feel _amazing,”_ muttered Crowley, as his hips, sharp and narrow and beautiful, came to rest flush against Aziraphale’s backside. Aziraphale shuddered, burning up all over, the breath punched out of him at the gravel in Crowley’s words. He closed his eyes a moment, felt Crowley lean down, registered the playful nuzzle of his nose against his ear. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

Ready? Oh, please. He had been ready from the moment Crowley invited him to sit down at the cafe; he'd been fully prepared to throw all the cards - and his heart - on the table like he had nothing else to lose. He had been so guarded with his emotions, never allowing a single careless spill, not where anybody could see it, see _him, judge_ him. He had hidden his whole life, tucked away like a book on the highest shelf, allowed to sit and grow old, become unnecessary with time.

But there was no telling, no telling at all, when even the most well-hidden of objects might be discovered again - and Aziraphale had surely found his liberator. 

Here, in an unfamiliar bed, an unfamiliar home, wrapped in darkness and the scent of pine and woodsmoke, he allowed himself to feel again, to be important again. To be _wanted_ again. 

He stroked Crowley’s cheek, smiled when Crowley turned his head slightly, nuzzled into his palm and kissed his wrist. "I'm ready."

The first few, tentative thrusts had Aziraphale feeling rather like a teenager again; unsure of himself, where to put his hands, whether he should be making that noise, and what even were legs? Were they supposed to feel like jelly? They had ended up over Crowley's shoulders roughly thirty-eight seconds into the big act, in any case. The position near bent him in half, the soft ripple of his abs aching, thighs trembling, but it was good, it was _good,_ it -

_"Ah!"_

"Alright?"

"I-I - it's - oh!"

"Talk to me, angel." Crowley's voice had turned wonderfully dark and husky. He leaned down further, increasing the depth, the pressure of his hips rolling in and out -

Stars exploded behind Aziraphale's eyes.

"Oh! Right there!" he shouted out. His limbs suddenly remembered what they were capable of as his hands shot downwards; they found their target of Crowley's cute, freckled, lightly fuzzed bottom, and clung for dear life.

"Yes, angel, yes, fuck," Crowley hissed. Aziraphale's fingers digging into his skin only seemed to inflame him further, his thrusts gaining strength, speed, confidence. Their lips collided in a sloppy tangle of spit-slick kissing, soft grunts and breathless cries mingling between them. Aziraphale's legs shook more violently as Crowley bore down into him, relentlessly deep, near overwhelming, and he'd never loved the feeling more. 

"I'm -" One hand released Crowley, slipped between their bodies. Aziraphale wrapped his fingers around his cock and sighed. "I'm not going to last much longer."

"Mhm. Me neither." Wet lips dragged carelessly over Aziraphale's cheek as Crowley shifted, the movement of his hips becoming disjointed and frantic. They were both chasing their highs now, a race to the finish, no clear winner, so long as they both made it.

The burning in Aziraphale’s body flared to a wildfire of need, desperate for release and scarcely holding onto control. He looked into Crowley's eyes, watching the way they danced back and forth - beautiful, sightless pools of liquid brown, and yet it was like Crowley could gaze straight through to his soul, and that, oh, that made Aziraphale's heart ache with longing, though for what, he couldn't say. 

All he could do was arch up, and shiver, and open his mouth in a silent cry as he came, spilling over his shaking fingers.

"Oh god, I'm gonna - I'm - oh fuck, oh god-!" Crowley pitched forwards again with a guttural cry, face burying in the pillow. His hips snapped forward once more, then shuddered, and went still. Aziraphale felt the warm pulsing of his release and sighed, allowing his eyes to fall closed. 

What a wonderful date this had been.

Slowly, Crowley raised his head. Aziraphale opened his eyes, beheld the gentle, easy smile on Crowley's lips, and leaned up to kiss them, noses bumping. They nuzzled back and forth, giggling, lust-sated, perhaps a little love-drunk, and happy, so happy.

"Well," Crowley murmured. "That was a thing."

"That it was, my dear." Crowley began to withdraw his hips and Aziraphale grimaced at the sensation, suddenly feeling rather empty and more than a little sticky. "I, um…"

"Bathroom's through that door there," Crowley pointed. "Use whatever you need."

"Thank you." Grateful that Crowley wouldn't see him stumbling on unsteady legs, Aziraphale slid off the bed, stopping to pick up his boxers on the way to the bathroom. 

_Have I just had a one night stand?_ He stared into the mirror over the sink, after he had relieved himself and washed away the stickiness streaking his abdomen. Staring back at him was a ruffled-looking thirty-something, unremarkable but for the scratch marks on his chest, the lovebites either side of his throat. He touched a careful finger to one of the bruises, regarding the situation pensively. 

_Yes,_ he decided. _I rather think I did._ He had the feeling, however, that this would not be their first rodeo together, as it were. And _that,_ indeed, was something he would find no fault with whatsoever.

Underwear back on, Aziraphale returned to the bedroom to find Crowley sitting on the end of the bed, yawning and running a hand through his hair. He tilted his head slightly in Aziraphale's direction, a smile lifting his lips. 

"You're walking steadier already."

Aziraphale had the good grace to blush as he stepped closer. "Nothing gets past you, does it?" He sat down beside Crowley, who continued to regard him mildly. "I confess I don't know what I'm supposed to do now. Is this the part where I gather my things and scuttle off home?"

"Is that what you want?" asked Crowley, and Aziraphale shivered suddenly, remembering the same words spoken just before all this started. 

“...No. Not particularly.” 

Crowley smiled. He searched across the mattress for Aziraphale’s hand, warm fingers closing around his wrist. “Then stay,” he said softly. 

Aziraphale returned his smile, made sure Crowley knew of it with a brush of lips against his cheek. “I will. Thank you.” 

“Nightcap?”

“Sounds lovely.” Aziraphale watched Crowley stand from the bed and held back a dreamy sigh at the sight of his slender legs, his stupidly cute bottom. He wanted to pinch it, see Crowley jump and yelp in surprise. 

“Need to take Bentley out to piss first, though,” Crowley said as he made his way carefully towards the bedroom door. “Be back in a minute.”

“Crowley, darling.”

“Yeah?”

“Clothes.”

Crowley paused, glanced down at his nakedness, and smirked. “Whoops.”

“Not that I’m complaining about the view, of course,” Aziraphale said, already handing over Crowley’s discarded clothing, “but your neighbours might certainly object.” It was a shame, really, to see that delicious backside covered up once more, but a consolation prize was offered by way of Crowley only half-buttoning up his shirt, a lovely patch of red curls peeking out atop his sternum. Everything about the man was so downright gorgeous, Aziraphale couldn’t quite believe the last few hours had really happened. 

Whilst Crowley was occupied with Bentley, Aziraphale dressed again and went to fix them both a drink. And just in case, he pocketed the bottle of lube from the bedroom, and a few condoms. _Just in case._

* * *

Crowley dreamt of angels that night. Soft and gentle, resplendent in their grace. He dreamt of whispering lips, the ghost of touches across his skin, lulling him to stupor, reeling him in close. Resistance had never even crossed his mind. He’d been in Heaven that whole night, anyway. Where else would he go?

Aziraphale was...out of this world. Amazing. Perfect. An actual, honest-to-God _angel,_ wrapped up with a tartan sodding bow. Crowley wasn’t much of a religious man, but he’d found himself silently thanking the Big Guy Above for the crossing of their paths as they’d settled into the lounge with whiskeys in hand, Queen playing quietly from the Echo in the corner. 

He’d thanked Him again, when their drinks were finished and Aziraphale straddled him on the sofa, lips exploring his neck, fingers doing away with buttons and buckles. Thanked Him again, with head tipped to the sky, as Aziraphale sank down onto him, rode him with abandon, gasped out his name over and over. 

Back to the bed, then, where they’d dozed awhile, and after, with his face pushed into a pillow, Aziraphale holding his hips and pounding him to the tune of _We Will Rock You_ , Crowley had sent up one final, ecstatic scream of gratitude - _God, God, thank you, God, you glorious bastard, holy shit-!_

When he awoke the following morning, he ached all over, muscles stiff and sore, mouth a little dry, but his head was clear, no sign of an impending hangover. Good. He sat up and stretched, working out the cracks in his back and shoulders, groaning happily as the joints gave several satisfying pops.

Aziraphale wasn’t in the bed beside him, that much he could sense without having to feel for him. With only a small frown, Crowley pressed a button on his watch. 

_“The time is - eight thirty-three, AM.”_ Bloody hell, they’d barely slept at all. He remembered it being near five o’clock before they both passed out from post-railing-each-other-silly exhaustion. Still, Aziraphale seemed the kind to be an early riser, and they hadn’t discussed him hanging around in the morning, just if he wanted to stay the night. Which he did, and he had, and Crowley had loved every fucking second of it. But now it was time for life to return to normal. Aziraphale had gone home, and Crowley had essays to finish marking, but that could wait until after a long shower and a gallon of coffee. 

He’d call Aziraphale later. Make sure he got back okay. Ask if they could see each other again soon. They’d hit it off so well, he was sure of it. Didn't want to look desperate, though. Maybe he could lie low for a few days after that. Call again afterwards, schedule another date. That was the mature thing to do, right?

The bedroom door flew open as he was considering whether to snooze a while longer. He sat up a little straighter and smiled, running a hand through his hair. "Just couldn't stay away, eh, angel?"

A sharp finger poked him hard in the chest. "You fucking asshole!"

Oh.

Shit.

The snarling breaths an inch from his face did not belong to Aziraphale, but to Crowley's very small, very angry, very best friend.

"Uh. Hi, Bee." Whilst he contemplated the possibility of being murdered in his bed, Crowley remembered his act of transgression. "I was supposed to call you last night, wasn't I?"

"Yeah, shit for brains, you were. I was _worried!"_

"In all fairness, you probably fell asleep waiting for me."

"Shut up," Bee growled.

"And see, I got home safe."

Bee drew back. "All I can see is your dick." Crowley twitched the duvet over his lap. "Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen," Bee called as they left the room. "Coffee's on."

"God, I love you," groaned Crowley, already halfway out of bed in search of his jeans. 

A quick wash of his face and a comb through his hair, and then he was inching his way into the kitchen, following the rich scent of arabica. But something was off. He paused in the doorway, frowning suddenly. 

Bentley. Where was Bentley? She would normally be running to greet him as soon as he got up, if she hadn't already taken advantage of an open door to leap into the bed and lick his face. 

"Bee, where's-"

"Bentley? She's gone out for a walk with your new fella," Bee replied from the other side of the kitchen.

"How the fuck-"

"I looked at your phone. He left you a message."

Crowley sighed as he sat down. "You're an ass, you know that, right?"

"Well, you didn't call me when you were supposed to, so that makes two of us." Bee set a mug of coffee down in front of him forcefully, a drop spilling over onto Crowley's fingers. 

He sucked the hot liquid off absently as he gave a shrug in response to the quip. "Yeah, I was kinda busy."

"I gathered." There was a dull scraping as Bee pulled a chair round and sat down opposite Crowley, no doubt nursing their own mug. "You literally have a hickey _on_ your nipple."

"Which one?"

"Left." 

Crowley pressed two fingers to the perceived spot, finding it slightly tender to the touch. "Ha. So I do."

"You're so fucking weird," Bee muttered, sounding grumpy. They always sounded grumpy, to be fair, but Crowley had learned to read their subtle nuances from childhood. He knew Bee like the back of his hand, had done since long before he lost his sight. 

_Aziraphale is still around._ Crowley could scarcely believe it. Not only had Aziraphale _not_ slipped out without a word - unlike past dates - he'd left a message and was taking care of his dog's morning walk. _Which means he'll be coming back._ His heart soared, pathetic thing that it was. Oh, he was in deep with his angel, with not a complaint to be heard. 

"Anthony." Fingers clicked in front of his nose. "Eyes on me, idiot." 

He blinked and turned towards Bee. "Sorry," he mumbled, and Bee gave a low _hmph._ He took a swig of coffee before deciding where to begin. 

He told Bee as much as he could. There wasn't much, given he'd only known Aziraphale a few days, but he relayed what he had to go off of. How sweet Aziraphale was, the lovely paper-and-vanilla scent of him; that he was soft and kind and gentle, how he wore bow ties and had silky curly hair and called everyone "dear" and "darling"-

"He sounds a right stuffy twat." Bee, interrupting, was decidedly and obviously unimpressed. "D'you like him, though?"

"I really do," murmured Crowley, dreamily. Bee made a soft noise in reply, indistinguishable from disgust or satisfaction, and was quiet afterwards a moment. Crowley picked up on the sound of their nails tapping an irritable rhythm on the countertop. 

Then, 

"If you're happy, so am I."

"Aww, thanks, Bee. Means a lot."

"Ugh, I hate when you get all mushy." Bee's hand brushed his, just the barest of touches, a counterweight to their acid tones. "Were you safe?"

"I am a grown-ass man," Crowley protested.

_"Were you fucking safe?"_

His shoulders slumped. "Yeah. Course we were."

Bee grunted. "Good."

There was a slight rattle from the hallway, followed by the sound of a lock clicking. Crowley straightened and smiled as he began to pat down his hair. _He's back. My angel._

"Oh my god, stop _preening,_ you damn peacock," Bee groaned. Crowley gave them the finger. 

The front door opened, bringing with it the sound of footsteps and trimmed claws on the floorboards. Bentley was panting slightly, a sign of a walk well done. "Here we go, my love," Aziraphale was saying gently, "you're back home now, and weren't you well behaved? Let's take this leash off and get you a drink, hm?" A clatter of metal and woven fabric. "Oh, but you are _darling..._ yes, yes, I suppose you can lick my fingers… _oh!_ Oh, you cheeky thing. Come along, now!" His voice became louder as he neared the kitchen, footsteps quieter. Shoes taken off, most likely. 

Then the kitchen door opened, Bentley snuffled her way in, and Aziraphale clicked his tongue, sighing afterwards. 

"Really, dear, you have company. Would it kill you to button your shirt up?"

It was at that moment that Crowley wondered if this was how falling in love felt - with swelling hearts and stupid smiles and wet dog noses nuzzling at his fingers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
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	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, you lot - this chapter is one long and heavy boi. As such, we will be touching on some topics that might be considered sensitive. Proceed with caution, but don't worry, our Husbands are getting their happy ending no matter what 
> 
> Content warnings as follows: brief mention of ableism, inappropriate consumption of alcohol, arguments, brief mention of marijuana use, discussion of traumatic brain injury, discussion of surgery. 
> 
> If I missed any, please let me know.

The next eight weeks passed by with little fanfare. The world carried on spinning, day followed night, night followed day. Life went on as normal for Crowley, teaching his classes in the week and hauling around a digital mountain of paperwork to mark in the office or at home, depending on his mood. The Them had had their group dissertation approved by the Dean, to Crowley's relief - their proposal really _had_ been good. Sometimes they came to hang out in his office, all hushed voices and clicking of fingers on laptop keys as they worked, while Crowley put his earbuds in to have his screen reader fire off his documents and emails at a speed rivalling the feet of that blue hedgehog game he used to play as a kid.

Other times - such as now - he pushed aside the tech, said "fuck it," and broke out the rum. 

In hindsight, getting utterly smashed with a group of enthusiastic twenty year olds was not quite what he'd had in mind, but they'd just been there at the time, and at least Brian had thrown up into the bin and not on the carpet. Now he was snoring on the couch, while Adam and Pepper badgered Crowley for information.

"Noooope," Crowley drawled, shaking his head. "S'not profes - profi - _profesh'nl_ to discuss my personal life with my students."

"You are lying on the floor, using your dog as a pillow, drinking rum straight from the bottle at three in the afternoon," Adam pointed out. "You don't get to use the professionalism card right now."

"Don't care, not talking."

Pepper made an exasperated sound. "Men are _so_ bad at talking about their feelings," she huffed. "It's ridiculous."

"That's sexist," Wensley said.

"It's not sexist if it's true!" Bentley snuffled her nose into Crowley's ear and he sat up with a groan, swivelling his head in the direction of Pepper's voice. "Gimme that, AJ." He held the rum out with a wobbling grip. "Cheers." She took a gulp and passed it back. "Look, all we're saying is that you're not yourself today."

"That obvious, is it?" Crowley drank deeply, the sweet sharpness of Jamaica's finest burning his throat.

"Actually," said Wensley, "you've not been yourself for a few days."

"Did you and your angel break up?" Adam asked. 

"No," grunted Crowley. There was nothing _to_ break up. Wasn't like they'd actually been serious about each other, anyway. Definitely not exclusive. Were they? They hadn't actually had that conversation. 

"Then what happened?"

Crowley sighed and lowered himself back to the floor.

Aziraphale was _hiding something,_ that's what happened.

They had carried on seeing each other after their first date, keeping in regular contact and spending most weekends together. Sometimes they had dinner, most times they fucked, and Aziraphale nearly always stayed the night. He was the perfect cuddler, and he made the cutest snuffling noises in his sleep, and he kept Crowley's usually frigid toes toasty warm with the way he liked to wrap himself around Crowley in bed. He'd never been happier to play little spoon. 

Working at home had become easier, more enjoyable, with Aziraphale around. The soothing sound of pages turning, soft murmurs of passages that caught his eye; the clink of a mug against a coaster, the quiet slurp of tea - unobtrusive and infinitely relaxing. Crowley adored the domestic simplicity of those mornings, but had to make the most of them, as Aziraphale would only stay for as long as his book would distract him. Crowley had offered, several times, to make the journey home with him, or even just walk partway, but Aziraphale always refused, stammering through some badly-formed excuse before hightailing it out as fast as he could. 

The first few times Crowley thought little of it. When the hasty retreats became a regular occurrence, however, he began to ponder Aziraphale's behaviour. And thus, they ended up having their first fight. 

_“Why haven’t I been to your place?”_

_It was Saturday morning, and they were lazing about in bed, Crowley's head pillowed on Aziraphale's chest, a pelt of curls tickling his nose._

_Aziraphale was still half-asleep and adorably groggy as he mumbled out a quiet, “Hm?”_

_“I said, why haven’t I been to your place yet, angel?”_

_“Oh." The hand that had been stroking up and down Crowley's shoulders abruptly stopped. "Well, I...I suppose I got used to coming over here. Didn't see much reason for that to change."_

_"Routine, then."_

_"Y-Yes, I would say so."_

_"Right," Crowley said, flatly._

_"Besides, you wouldn’t be familiar with the layout. I wouldn’t want you tripping over anything.”_

_Crowley saw red. Or, perhaps, the shadows that were what remained of his vision tinted a slight crimson. He pulled back with a scowl, jaw clenched. "Right," he said again. "So I’m good enough to fuck for the last two months, but not good enough to be in your home because oh no, the poor blind bastard might trip over a rug?”_

_“That’s not - I'm just looking out for-"_

_“I_ told _you, don't tiptoe around me like that! I'm not a fucking invalid, Aziraphale!" Frustrated tears burned unwelcome in his eyes. "If you don’t want me around, then just say so, but don’t_ lie _to me.” He felt Aziraphale reaching for him. "No - I don't -" He shoved himself away and off the bed, banging his hip on the bedside table in his disoriented rage._

_“Crowley!" cried Aziraphale. "Where are you going?”_

_“Shower. See yourself out, will you?"_

That had been four days ago, and bar the odd text from Aziraphale (all of which Crowley had ignored), they hadn't spoken. Crowley avoided the cafe after work, opting to go straight home instead and thoroughly confusing poor Bentley in the process. His hip still ached, probably bruised, much the same as his heart. 

_I was so fucking sure of him,_ he lamented, there on the floor, still refusing to talk. Folk like Crowley didn't get to become distinguished university professors without developing a thick skin, being able to turn a blind eye - _ha! -_ to critics and killjoys of ambition, those who questioned his ability at every turn and treated him like glass. He had left those people in the dirt long ago, only looking back to smile and say "I told you so." He didn't care about them, never had, never would - but Crowley had felt a real, strong affection for Aziraphale, so strong it consumed him, addled his every waking moment and blessed him in his dreams. And the man had gone and used his disability as a half-arsed excuse. 

_That,_ more than anything else, had cut deep, hurt more than he could even think about, let alone talk about. So he said nothing, and handed the rum to Wensley, and hoped that his glasses hid the tears threatening to spill from his useless eyes. 

"'M gonna call it a day. Tired." Crowley fumbled in his pocket for his phone, realising he was far too pissed to operate it. "Fuck. One of youse, call Bee for me, would ya?"

"There's no "Bee" in your contacts," said Adam, presumably scrolling through said list.

"Oh yeah, they're under "Buzz Buzz Motherfucker,"" remembered Crowley, to raucous laughter. The phone was handed back to him and Bee picked up after two rings.

"Yeah…? Who's cackling in the background?"

"Bee!" Crowley exclaimed. "I need youuuu - I can't get home."

"That's what your dog is for, idiot."

"'M on the floor at work. Comfy. Come...come kick me up the ass and drag me home."

Bee sighed. "Are you drunk?"

"Yep."

"...Right. For fucks' sake. I'm on my way." 

Crowley dropped his phone to the carpet with a triumphant grin. "That's my lift home sorted. Who's got the rum?"

"No more rum," Adam said firmly, and Crowley startled at how close his voice suddenly was, right by his ear. "C'mon, get up and sit on the couch, I'll shove Brian's feet over so there's room." 

With great reluctance he allowed Adam to guide him to his feet and over to the couch, where he flopped down next to a still-snoring Brian. He poked a mystery arm on his left. "Whozzat? Pepper?"

"Actually, it's me," said Wensley.

"Oh. Right. Hi. Yeah, so'm gonna rest my eyes till Bee gets here…" And Crowley dropped sideways, head butting against Brian's shoulder blade, before he promptly passed out, still dreaming of angels.

He was roughly shaken awake what felt like only seconds later, rousing groggy and confused. A warm hand slipped into his. He clung on automatically, nose twitching. Was that...vanilla?

"Stand up now, there's a good chap." 

Halfway through raising himself up, Crowley swayed, frowning. Perhaps he was still dreaming. Had Bee started wearing a new perfume? Were their hands always this broad? He stumbled, feeling dizzy, and landed against a solid warmth - _tall_ solid warmth…? 

"...'Ziraphale?" The name felt thick and fuzzy on his tongue.

"Yes, darling, it's me." An arm draped over his shoulder, drawing him close. "Steady now...I've got you." 

Even in his anger, Crowley couldn't help but wonder how his angel had been after their fight, their subsequent time apart. He sounded exhausted, frayed at the edges with emotion, and he smelled so _good,_ felt so _warm._ It was like coming home again, being in his arms.

"So this is where you work," Aziraphale marvelled softly. "Very you. I like the plants, they're a nice touch." Oh, Crowley wanted to bury his face in that gorgeous chest, nuzzle his nose against the pelt of curly hair he so adored. He wanted to kiss Aziraphale senseless, topple them to the couch, give them a reunion to remember -

Hang on. No. Aziraphale didn't get to just walk in here and sweet-talk like nothing ever happened. Crowley finally drew to his full height and shoved Aziraphale back with a snarled, "What the _hell_ are you doing here? Where's Bee?" 

"Over here," came Bee's voice from somewhere near his desk. "Poor lovestruck sap showed up at your flat while I was cleaning, insisted he come along with-"

 _"Thank you, dear,"_ said Aziraphale tightly. Bee snorted but fell quickly into silence. 

Sighing, Crowley dropped back down onto the couch and rubbed his hands over his face, knocking his glasses askew. "What d'you want, angel?"

"To talk, you bloody idiot, what else?"

"'M not arguing in front of the kids." He glanced up, eyes flicking this way and that. "They're still here, right? Nosey bastards wouldn't miss this for the world."

"Actually, we're on our way out," piped up Wensley. 

"Give you some privacy," added Pepper.

"Whadd'I miss?" from a sleep-drunk, rum-drunk Brian.

"Coming, Mx. Bee?" asked Adam.

"Yep, lemme just-" There was the _click_ of Bentley's leash, along with a few enthusiastic snuffles. "There we go. Right, we're off out."

Crowley spluttered. "Eh?!"

"See you later, loverboys."

"Hang on a-!" 

The door slammed shut. 

Silence.

Crowley tilted his head up towards Aziraphale. "...Did they just kidnap my dog? Dognap? Whatever the fuck the term is?"

Aziraphale hummed quietly. "Not quite. I believe Bee is going to take Bentley home." Crowley was about to snap a scathing retort about being left without his eyes, but then Aziraphale sat beside him on the couch, and he bit his tongue. "We need to talk, Crowley."

"Do we?" snorted Crowley, bitter. Nothing good ever came of those words.

"Yes, I rather think we do. I owe you an apology." His hands left the sofa cushions, Crowley picking up the soft noise of fingers trailing over trouser fabric. "You weren't answering my attempts to contact you, so I stopped by your flat. Had to, really. Anathema has been threatening to run me through with her knitting needles."

"Bee run you through instead?" Crowley drawled.

"No," Aziraphale laughed lightly, "but they did have some choice words for me, all of which I deserved." His voice became sombre again as he continued, "What I said to you, it wasn't right, and it wasn't fair. I never should have used your blindness as an excuse to keep you at arm's length. For that, I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart."

Crowley remained silent, face tipped to the ceiling as he lounged back on the sofa, hoping his thrashing heart wasn't given away on his expression.

"The truth is, I was terrified. These last few months have been wonderful, darling, and I have cherished every moment spent with you and Bentley, casual or otherwise." Aziraphale sighed mournfully. "But then you asked about my home, and it terrified me. Not because I didn't _want_ us to be something different - I have always been open to that - but I was ashamed of my situation, and I didn't know how to explain any of it to you."

Crowley frowned. "I don't understand."

"Perhaps it's best if I show you. If you'll…" Aziraphale's voice wobbled slightly. "If you'll still...if you…"

"Angel?" 

He took a deep breath. "If you'll still have me...I'd like to take you to my home. Right now. And I will explain everything there."

_Say no. Say no, dammit!_

_Say -_

* * *

"How the fuck did I get talked into this?" 

"Well, you often do have trouble saying no to me - ah, we're going to go down some steps now, dear-"

"I know the Tube, angel."

Aziraphale tutted. "Would you rather guide yourself?"

"I have this." Crowley held up the white stick he used infrequently enough for it to feel alien in his hand. The other gripped Aziraphale's elbow, his lifeline, as they descended the steps.

"Yes, well. You don't seem to be using it."

"Don't like it. S'part of the reason I have a dog." A sudden memory jumped to the forefront of Crowley's mind. "I used the stick till I was twenty-two. Broke my nose opening a door. Stopped using it after that and went to a dog training programme."

"That sounds painful."

"Eh. I've had worse." Crowley rubbed a finger absently over the slight misalignment just below the bridge of his glasses.

"I take it Bentley is not your first canine companion, then?" They were on the train now, sitting side by side, and Crowley didn't need to hold onto Aziraphale anymore, but he did anyway, and couldn't quite place why. The rocking of the carriage as it trundled along the tracks lulled him into a familiar rhythm, his day syncing up as he knew it to be.

"Bentley's my third," he mumbled. "I had Eve for six years, Lilith after that. She retired last year with an arthritic hip, lives with Bee now."

"And Eve?"

"Died a few years back. Bee had her as well. They'll take Bentley, too, when the time comes." 

"Oh, darling." Crowley felt Aziraphale squeeze his thigh gently. "It must be difficult to see them go."

"Is what it is," shrugged Crowley. He leaned into Aziraphale with a sigh, both arms coming to loop around his bicep as he snuggled in close and closed his eyes to the shadows dancing before him. God, but it felt good to be near his angel again. Four days had been forever. "Where are we getting off again?" he murmured.

"Tottenham Court Road," replied Aziraphale.

"Mm. 'Kay." Crowley tightened his hold on Aziraphale, and thought nothing more of it until the train rattled to a stop, Aziraphale's soft voice guiding them out of the Underground and back onto the streets of London. 

A momentary stab of pain behind Crowley's eyes had him squeezing them shut and clinging blearily to Aziraphale. Damn sun must have been shining straight at him. "I'm fine, I'm fine," he insisted, feeling the sudden tension and panic in Aziraphale's stance. "How much further?"

"Not far now." Aziraphale's fingers brushed his cheek, warm and comforting. "Can you carry on? Do you need a minute?"

"Nah, 'm good now." He was still swaying, but more out of adoration, swooning at being held up and protected. He heard the faintest chuckle from Aziraphale, and then they were off again. Turning left, past the construction works and… 

"Feels like going to the cafe," he remarked. Aziraphale said nothing bar a gentle guidance to sidestep a manhole. Following his directions felt almost as natural as they did with Bentley. 

There it was...the scent of coffee in the air. Crowley's usual after-work destination. They turned left just before it, then right, pausing afterwards for Aziraphale to tell him how many steps were in front of them. Cautiously, tucking his stick under his arm and holding the grab rail with his free hand, Crowley ascended. 

Aziraphale's pocket jangled as he searched, presumably, for his keys; a soft "aha" and a solid _clunk_ of wood and metal as the door creaked open, and he was ushering Crowley through, into an entryway that was warm, and smelled vaguely of lilies. "Yes, there are some in the sitting room," said Aziraphale when Crowley remarked on it. "Quite a strong perfume, but one does get used to it over time. Oh, just slip your shoes off, if you will, dear. Anathema will gut me like a fish if any dirt tracks through."

Crowley frowned. What did Anathema have to do with anything? Nevertheless he kicked off his boots and shrugged off his jacket, which Aziraphale hung up, guiding Crowley's hand to it afterwards so he knew where it was. He smiled, appreciating the gesture. Then Aziraphale led them through to what Crowley presumed was the sitting room, as the lily scent was stronger now, but not unpleasantly so. Liked lilies, did Crowley. 

They sat down on the sofa. Crowley didn't need to use any of his senses to know Aziraphale was fidgeting with his hands restlessly beside him.

"So…" 

"Would you like a drink?" Aziraphale burst out. "Coffee, tea, maybe something stronger?"

"I'm alright, angel. Just be straight with me, now we're here. Okay?"

Silence filtered between them for several long and very uncomfortable moments. Then finally, Aziraphale sighed. "I have lived here for six months," he said, "but it isn't my home. Not really, anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"This is Anathema's flat, above the cafe. I don't have a home of my own, not anymore. Not since…" Crowley felt Aziraphale shift beside him, leaning forwards. "I owned a bookshop, not far from here. Lovely place, it was. I poured every ounce of love into it, all my heart and soul. What little I sold from the shelves, I made up for in restoration and preservation of ancient and highly valuable texts. That's how Anathema and I met; she shares my keen eye for prophetic works. She came to see me about a volume I might have had in my possession, and we've been steadfast friends since then."

He was going somewhere, albeit in a roundabout way, but Crowley stayed quiet, let Aziraphale talk himself through. 

"There was a flat above the bookshop, as well. It was my home for ten years. I didn't use it often. Truth be told, I was more inclined to spend the night in my comfy old armchair in the shop's back room, book and blanket in my lap, cocoa on the table...but I knew, at least, that I had a home waiting for me, should I have need of it. And then…"

Crowley released a breath he didn't realise he was holding.

"I was careless one night. I'd forgotten I had candles lit in the shop, and went out for a drink across town with Anathema and Newton. I think...I must have pulled the door shut too hard, knocked a candle over in the process. We were drinking all night...by the time I woke up - in this very room - " A gentle noise hitched in Aziraphale's chest, half-sob, half-laugh. "It was gone. All of it. Burned beyond saving. Thank goodness my most priceless artifacts were stored off-site, but I lost everything else. My work….my home...my very purpose."

Aziraphale's voice had grown heavy in between hearty sniffles, and Crowley realised all too late that his angel was crying. Unsure of himself, whether his touch would be welcomed, he kept his hands firmly in his lap, resisting the urge to reach out and pull Aziraphale close.

"Anathema has been so good to me. She insisted I move in with her straight away, and wouldn't hear a word against it. I continued my restoration work in the meantime, what little contracts there were that came in... but being cooped up here for so many months...I began to feel isolated. I grew depressed. That's when Anathema said I should try working downstairs, in the cafe. Get me talking to people again, and all that."

"Guess it worked," said Crowley hoarsely. He felt like crying himself, chest squeezing painfully. "You met me."

"I did." 

"Why wouldn't you tell me any of this before? Why couldn't you just be honest with me?"

Aziraphale sighed and sat back. Crowley felt him lift an arm to wipe his eyes. "I told you, I was ashamed. Terrified of what you might think of me. You're a success in your field, in spite of all the odds stacked against you. You have a beautiful home. Your students clearly love you. You have so much to give to the world." Another soft sob. "And then there's me. A ruined man, accused of burning down my shop to claim on insurance, reduced to handing out tea and coffee and being forced to smile when I feel like I'm dying inside. I'm a failure, Crowley. I didn't...I didn't want you to know me like that. So I made my excuses, pitiful though they were, and I hurt you so terribly that I fear I will never forgive myself, let alone be deserving of your forgiveness."

A lump formed in Crowley's throat as his jaw clenched. "You thought I would judge you."

"I was afraid...still am...that if you could see me - _really_ see me - that you would walk away without a backwards glance. But...but I wouldn't blame you, if you did. You still could. I mean…" A wild laugh erupted from Aziraphale, mad with frantic emotion, "...this was never going to be long term, was it? Not with a fat old queen like me. You couldn't possibly -"

"Shut up."

"W-What?"

 _"I said shut up!"_ Crowley leapt to his feet, suddenly blazing. "You -" and he jabbed a furious finger at Aziraphale, "- you don't get to talk about yourself like that. You don't _get_ to assume how I feel about _any_ of this!" He paused, softened a little, though his chest continued to heave with rapid breaths. "I'm sorry about your bookshop, angel. I can't imagine how traumatic that must have been for you, but... _fuck_ , I would _never_ judge you for living here, for working downstairs in the cafe. How could I, the way you came into my life? Let me tell you now, Aziraphale - I see you clearly, my eyes be damned, and I don't...I don't walk away from the things I love, so don't _ever_ let me hear you hate on yourself like -"

"You love me?" whispered Aziraphale.

Record scratch.

Shit. That was the last thing Crowley had wanted to say, mid-emotional outburst.

Still, it was out in the open now.

"Uh. Yeah." He scratched his head sheepishly. "I do."

 _"Oh."_ Aziraphale began to cry again, muffling his sobs with his - hands? Sleeve? Crowley knelt, felt the hard ridge of a table against his hip, and shoved it, uncaring, out of the way. Prostrating himself before his angel, offering himself up, however he was needed. 

Aziraphale grabbed for his hands a moment later, fingers wet with tears and probably a fair bit of snot, but Crowley didn't care in the slightest. 

"Crowley, dearest. My darling Anthony. Oh, I do love you so. I love you more than I have ever loved before. I don't deserve it, but...please, I beg your forgiveness. I must, even if it kills me to be rejected." Aziraphale squeezed Crowley's hands, his own shaking. "Forgive me, my love. Forgive my selfishness."

Crowley lowered his head, touching his brow to their clasped hands. _He loves me._ The revelation left him feeling a little dizzy. _This beautiful, clever, stupidly fucking fussy man loves me._ And Crowley loved him back, as surely as the sky was blue - at least, so far as he remembered it being. What was there to be angry about anymore? Aziraphale had stepped up and been the better man, made that decision whilst Crowley was storming around his office like a sulky teenager, ignoring his phone. This could have been resolved much sooner. Tears pricked at his eyes. 

_I wasn't the only one who was hurting._

"Angel." Crowley raised his head, face turned to Aziraphale, hoping their eyes were meeting. Tears fell freely down his cheeks as he lifted Aziraphale's hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to each of them in turn. "My sweet angel. There's nothing to forgive." 

"Crowley-!" Aziraphale choked on his sobs. "Oh, get up here!" Suddenly he was tugging at Crowley's hands, encouraging him to stand, and then pulling the man into his lap with a little clumsy flailing of limbs. 

Crowley quickly settled against him, knees anchored astride Aziraphale's hips as he buried his tearstained face in that lovely, soft, sweet-smelling neck. There were hands stroking through his hair, playing with the sensitive baby hairs at the nape, sliding down his back before arms wrapped firmly around his shoulders and held him tight. 

"Thank you," murmured Crowley, "for telling me. I know it must have been hard."

Aziraphale hummed quietly, lips brushing Crowley's brow. "I couldn't bear to lose you, darling. From now on, I'm an open book - and kept well away from candles!" Crowley drew back and felt Aziraphale's gentle fingers cupping his chin, their faces close enough to feel soft breaths upon his face, cooling the tracks left by his tears. "I love you. I love you, Anthony. Gosh, I think I could say it forever."

"Forever." Crowley closed his eyes and smiled. "I like the sound of that."

Their lips met in a sweet, slow kiss, bringing them, in their hearts, back home at last.

* * *

_"The time is - two twenty-one, AM."_

So Crowley couldn't sleep, either. 

Aziraphale opened his eyes and turned his head, watching Crowley shift restlessly beside him in bed, clad in boxers and an old shirt of Aziraphale's, copper tresses all mussed up and adorable. It wasn't unusual for Aziraphale to forego a good nights' rest, but Crowley would sleep on a washing line, given the chance, and snore happily the whole time. The man loved his sleep. Clearly, something was bothering him.

"Crowley, dear?" called Aziraphale, softly. 

Crowley's eyes fluttered open and he rolled onto his side, facing Aziraphale, the amber of his irises practically glowing in the gloom. He said nothing, instead reaching out a hand across the bedclothes, feeling his way across Aziraphale's body till he rested long fingers on his hip. Aziraphale stroked up his arm, noting the quiet noise of contentment Crowley made in response. 

"Is everything alright?" he whispered. "I don't think I've ever seen you awake at this time of night."

Crowley's lip quirked upwards. "Wait till I forget to write out my syllabus at the start of the year. Guaranteed all-nighter, that one." Aziraphale waited, knowing the tone behind his humour, and after a moment Crowley sighed. "Honestly, I'm fine, angel. I was just thinking."

"About what?" Aziraphale's hand reached Crowley's shoulder and began to rub in gentle circles. 

Hesitation drew itself clear on Crowley's face, dim as it was in the bedroom. 

"...I never told you how I lost my sight, did I?" Crowley finally murmured.

Aziraphale shook his head, then remembered himself. "No. I knew you would tell me when you were ready."

"I'm ready now. Um…" Crowley's feet shifted against each other below the covers. "Can I...can I cuddle up to you while I…?"

"Really, dear fellow, you don't have to ask." Crowley immediately slid over, face nuzzling into Aziraphale's chest and limbs draping inelegantly over him. Chuckling, Aziraphale wrapped an arm around his shoulders. "Take as much time as you need," he soothed.

Several minutes passed in comfortable silence. Crowley's nails, painted a lush royal blue, scraped gently over Aziraphale's bare chest, playing with the hair there. He always seemed to like doing that, and it _did_ feel nice. He hugged Crowley closer, pressed a kiss to the crown of his head, and waited.

"...I was fourteen," Crowley recalled, "and a dumbass, always causing trouble. I was living with Bee's family at the time -"

"You were childhood friends?" 

"Grew up together, practically. Tadfield, d'you know it? Little village just outside Oxford?" Aziraphale made a quiet noise of assent. "That's where we come from. Haven't been there in a while, but it's a nice place. Where was I...yeah, so there were four of us who used to hang out by the old mills and such. Leo and Hal, Bee, and then me. Leo looked about twenty, it was great, never got asked for ID, so whenever he popped over to neighbouring towns he brought booze and cigs back. Sometimes we got our hands on some weed, nothing stronger, though. Just a bunch of mad stoners, lounging about and scaring old ladies with our existence."

Aziraphale squeezed Crowley gently, indicating he was still listening. "Always causing trouble, indeed. Have you ever changed, dear?"

"Not really," Crowley smirked into his chest. "So this day, we'd split a bottle of cheap vodka, lit up a few joints, and we were buzzed but not off our heads, yeah? And one of us - can't remember who - comes up with the idea to break into one of the mills. See what's actually inside."

"And you did it?"

"Yup. Leo went up first, over the walls, trying to find a way in. He pulled apart a boarded-up window and then we climbed up after him. Here's where my memory starts getting spotty, so bear with me, yeah?" Crowley paused in his playing with Aziraphale's chest hair in favour of knuckling his brow in deep thought. "Lot of dust and dead rats, which, yeah, it was a disused mill, so that was obvious. And then...and then we split, I think. There were...rafters? I'd climbed a bit higher, nearer the top, and jumped over the rafters. Last thing I really remember is it all giving way under me, and Bee shouting for Hal and Leo."

Aziraphale sucked in a shaking breath. "You fell?"

"I didn't _mean_ to fall," Crowley grumbled into his shoulder. 

"No, of course not. How far…?"

"About fifteen feet, maybe?"

"You don't remember anything after that?"

"Bits and pieces," shrugged Crowley, "but it's all dreams and delusions. I can't recall what was real and what was in my head. By the time help got to us, Bee says I was all over the place, like, babbling nonsense, head-spinning, vomit-spewing, the whole shebang. Ever seen _The Exorcist?"_ Aziraphale shuddered; he had indeed, and not with pleasant results. Crowley let out a hollow laugh as he went back to running his nails over Aziraphale's chest. "I'm told I had to be put into a coma for a few days. Next thing I know, I'm waking up in hospital, there's a hole in my skull, I'm bandaged up to fuck, and I can't see a thing."

"A...hole in your skull?" Aziraphale whispered. His eyes felt hot, his chest tight. Crowley nodded at his words, tapping a spot at the back of his head. Aziraphale's fingers followed, feeling gently and inhaling sharply as he noticed, for the first time, the thick ridge of scar tissue streaking Crowley's scalp. The kind only life-saving surgery would leave behind. 

Aziraphale exhaled slowly, eyelashes suddenly rather wet. "They had to remove part of your skull, didn't they?" he croaked. "To relieve the pressure on your brain?"

"Exactly that," sighed Crowley. He nudged his head into Aziraphale's hand, encouraging him to keep rubbing. "The fall completely fucked up the part of my brain that processes visual info. Surgery saved my life, but the damage had already been done." 

For the first time since beginning to recount his past, Crowley's voice wavered slightly. He pressed himself tight to Aziraphale's side. "Having that explained to me...that I would never see again, and rely on everyone else for help...that was the only time I've ever known Bee to cry."

Aziraphale cried, too. Rolled to his side and enveloped Crowley in his arms, cradling him, as if he might fall again, and never come back this time around. He pressed kisses into Crowley's hair, still stroking the scar at the back of his head, and let his tears fall, let his lungs throb and burn while Crowley clung to him and shook as if plagued with a fever. The hair matting Aziraphale's chest grew damp, and he realised after a moment that Crowley was weeping, too. They held each other tightly, riding the waves of catharsis together. 

Eventually, Crowley drew back. "Sorry," he muttered, wiping his eyes. "Not cried like that for a while."

"Don't be sorry, darling." Aziraphale dried his own eyes with a watery giggle. 

"Felt bloody good, though. Reckon I needed that."

"Getting these things off your chest does often help, or so I'm told." He watched Crowley disentangle himself from their nest of limbs and sit up, sheets pooling around his slim waist. With the glitter of tears still sitting in his eyes, they looked to glow even brighter in the gloom. Aziraphale sat up as well, brought a gentle, grounding hand to Crowley's back, then began stroking. The man leaned into him after a brief pause, letting out a deep sigh. 

"Thanks, angel. For listening, and being here. I don't ever talk about it in such detail. If anyone ever asks I just tell them I hit my head. 'Part from Bee, and their family, you're really the only person I've told fully."

"We've had quite the heavy evening, haven't we, darling?" 

"We have." Crowley kissed Aziraphale's shoulder. "But we'll be better for it." His arms shifted over to drape loosely around Aziraphale. "Wasn't all that bad, in the end, anyway. I was numb inside, for a while, and then angry as fuck, but once I'd accepted it for what it was, I started cooperating, and responding better to rehabilitation. I was fully discharged just before I turned sixteen." A light chuckle escaped him then. "They couldn't put the original bone back in my skull, so FYI, getting on a plane with me is a nightmare - I set off all the metal detectors."

"I will bear that in mind," Aziraphale giggled. 

"Turns out Terminator jokes don't go down well at airports. Was lucky to avoid a cavity search - _ow!"_ Aziraphale lightly smacked his hip, and Crowley threw his head back to cackle with laughter. "Alright, alright, angel. That part of me is only for you. No more Terminator jokes at Gatwick."

Aziraphale rubbed the area he'd swatted. "You said you lived with Bee's family? Did you have a relationship with your own parents after your injury?"

"Nah, not really. I was an asshole kid, so I can't really blame them for not wanting me. They came to see me a couple of times while I was in hospital, but honestly, they were probably just glad to be rid of me. Bee's parents pretty much adopted me afterwards. I call them Mum and Dad now."

"Bee continues to do a lot for you."

"Kind of. Mostly they just keep the flat clean, and they make sure I've got food I can make quickly. I never asked them to do any of it, but I think part of it is residual guilt on their end..." He swivelled quickly, almost facing Aziraphale. "Please don't say that to their face, though. I _really_ don't want a shiv to the kidney."

Aziraphale shuddered. "You and me both."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Aziraphale continued to stroke absent patterns over Crowley's warm, soft skin while he absorbed everything he had been told. Crowley's deflections with humour made much more sense now. He hadn't known how to explain the trauma he went through, didn't trust anyone enough to ever bring it up. If he joked around enough, then people would forget their curiosity, or so he hoped, letting him fight his battles alone. Until now. Until he'd let Aziraphale in, let this part of his life become a part of Aziraphale's. It was warming and comforting, like the perfect mug of tea, to be trusted so.

"You know…" he mused, and Crowley turned his head back in his direction, "you said you'd have to rely on others for help. Maybe that was true at first, but now, I don't think you could be further from that statement."

"What d'you mean, angel?"

"Well, _look_ at you, my dear. An accomplished academic, a doctor, even! You navigate with more grace than any sighted person I've seen, and you don't let anything stand in your way. You are amazing, Anthony. A marvel."

"Ngk." Crowley's ears had turned bright red. "'S just normal for me now. Nothing amazing 'bout it."

"Oh, hush and take the compliment, man."

"I know what I could take instead." Crowley's face was gleeful as he shoved Aziraphale down onto his back and swung a leg over him, straddling him. He leaned down to nip Aziraphale's bottom lip, drawing forth a gasp. "How 'bout it, gorgeous?"

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. "Really, dear, you are insatiable."

"Damn right I am." And he crushed their mouths together, and nothing else was said between them. 

They did, in the end, sleep well that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come yell at me on [Tumblr](https://tia-lewise.tumblr.com/) or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/tia.amane) ! I'm always up for a chat.
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	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we are. Here's the finish line. The end of my most popular work on AO3 to date. I'm still completely blown away by all the love and support you guys have sent my way. This fandom is truly amazing. 
> 
> Oh hey, the awesome @haileythesato drew some gorgeous art of Crowley and Bentley from chapter 1! You can see it [on their Tumblr](https://haileythesato.tumblr.com/post/613331907611181056/heres-tia-lewises-crowley-from-their-human-au) and give them a Follow if you haven't done so already!

* * *

The Them graduated with four Firsts between them. Robes flapping in the breeze and hats on the brink of flying away, they posed for celebratory photos around campus, embellished with props: their ribboned scrolls, their parents, their favourite professor and said professor's boyfriend, abruptly yanked from work and pleasantly bemused to find himself in on the fun.

Afterwards the new Bachelor-holders retired to the pub for drinks, which Crowley and Aziraphale politely turned down, opting to get Aziraphale back to the cafe before Anathema blew a gasket. "I'm glad you two worked everything out," Adam had muttered in Crowley's ear as they prepared to slip out. Crowley had felt himself blush like an idiot at that, and grabbed Aziraphale's arm in hopes of being dragged away quickly.

(He wasn't. Aziraphale did so love his lengthy goodbyes, as did Bentley, the traitor.)

They held hands on the Tube back to Tottenham Court Road, Bentley dozing lightly at their feet. Crowley leaned his head against Aziraphale's shoulder and kissed his cheek and even after six months of practically wedded bliss he couldn't quite fathom that they had all this love for each other at their disposal. Okay, so they weren't  _ actually _ married, but they stayed at each others' places near constantly enough that their waking and sleeping moments meshed together in pure domestic harmony, and that - that was all they really needed. Just to be close. To have each other as they did. 

Aziraphale relieved Newt from the counter once they returned, and settled straight back into his shift. He brought Crowley a coffee and a peck on the forehead, while Crowley kicked his feet up on the comfy corner sofa and put in a single earbud, relaxing into his new post-work routine of waiting for closing time, lazing about until he and Aziraphale could head upstairs, or else hop on the Tube back to Mayfair. 

Content as he was, listening to the gentle murmur of his boyfriend's voice over the clinking of cups on saucers, feeling the measured footfalls he recognised as though they were his own, he barely registered Stephen Fry's musical narration of The Boy Who Lived. Oh, yeah. He was well and truly in love, madly, even - and what a surprise that had been, to willingly fall into soft and precious vulnerability, after years of shutting himself off, of putting his career first. Perhaps, deep inside, there had been fears; inability to juggle a decent work-life balance, or being too much for a sighted partner to handle. Crowley was all over the place at the best of times, and didn't care much to analyse his many negatives, but he could just about accept that Aziraphale saw his positives and negatives both, and loved all of him, just as much as Crowley loved him.

"Shift it, AJ." He felt Anathema's clumpy-boots approach before her soft Miami accent drifted over his shoulder, and was barely surprised when she shoved his feet over to drop down into the now-vacant space. 

Grinning, he sat up and pulled out his earbud. "Afternoon, Ms Device,” he drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Need to talk to you." Her sudden whispering sounded urgent and utterly unlike her, and Crowley found himself leaning towards her voice with a concerned frown. "About Aziraphale."

"What’s he done? Shit, it is - are we being a bother? Me and him?"

"No, no," she laughed, high-pitched and panicky. "I mean, I'm still mentally scarred from last week -"

"Look, I  _ said  _ I was sorry -"

"Sorry doesn't fix my best vase, AJ!"

"Look, if it's that important to you I can pay for -"

"You can pay me back by  _ wearing pants in my apartment. _ You nearly gave me a heart attack."

"Nearly gave myself one, too," Crowley shrugged, "tripping over the sodding rug like that - " The resulting burn had  _ not _ been pleasant. "Oh, but you needed to talk about…?"

Anathema let out a long breath. "Yeah. Gimme your hand a minute, will you? I'm nervous." Crowley wordlessly held his hand out and she took it in a squeezing grip. "Shit, this is scary…"

"Take your time," Crowley soothed, stroking his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Right. AJ -" Anathema hummed a moment before ploughing on, "Not that it hasn't been lovely having you guys around so much...but I...kind of need to kick Aziraphale out sometime soon." 

"How come?" Crowley's mind was suddenly fraught with grabbing for answers; one too many half-drunk mugs of cocoa lying around? Late rent payment? Had he said something he shouldn't? Or -

None of those things. None of anything Crowley could have imagined, really, but perhaps one of the simplest of all; Anathema pressed Crowley's hand inwards, against her -  _ oh… _

"You're…" 

"Yes."

"Really?"

_ "Yes!" _

"Holy shit, Ana!" Crowley's momentary shock dissolved into nothingness as he pulled Anathema into a tight hug, both of them laughing. He dropped a kiss to the top of her head and squeezed her, feeling the roughness of her work tunic beneath his fingers, her rose-scented hair tickling his nose. "Congratulations, sweetheart. You sound happy, but how're you feeling?"

"Nervous, but excited." Anathema's voice utterly shone with joy despite the slight trembling of her body against his. "Might have to get a shotgun wedding, though, before Mom comes after the pair of us…" She laughed quietly. "Traditional parents, huh?"

Crowley couldn't stop the mad grin overtaking his face. "Ah, you've got so much ahead of you. Your mates'll bombard you with baby stuff - no wonder you need the extra space!"

Anathema pulled back suddenly. "I'm so sorry," she whispered, the joy of the moment dissipating. "How on earth do I tell Aziraphale? I don't...I feel so awful…"

"Get back here." Crowley held out his free arm and Anathema settled back against him with a sigh. "You know he'll be fucking ecstatic for you, Ana. As I am. Seriously, holy shit,  _ you're gonna be a mom."  _ He dragged out the last few words in a poor imitation of her accent, and she tutted and shoved lightly at him with her shoulder. 

"So what do I do?"

"Just be straight with him. Same as you've always been, yeah? Why should this be any different?"

It was the correct advice to give, as was evidenced half an hour later, when Anathema pulled Aziraphale aside, and the man squealed loud enough to shatter Crowley's glasses, then proceeded to sob into his boyfriend's chest for the next ten minutes.

"I'm going to be an  _ uncle,  _ Anthony!"

* * *

Aziraphale had, in the past, heard the term "bear" used for his appearance. He didn't much agree with it, and each to their own, but he  _ was  _ quite furry and round-bellied, there was no denying that. He'd hoped that with age would come a relaxing of his self-esteem, a lessening concern for how he looked; he liked food and other earthly pleasures far too much to fathom something as time-consuming as losing weight. Alas, that relaxation had yet to arrive, and Aziraphale continued in his mild discomfort of what he saw in the mirror every morning.

And then there was Crowley.

Crowley was different. He was slender, all flat planes and sharp edges, and he sported a mere sprinkle of curls on his chest, and of course there was no forgetting his adorably fuzzed backside. He was flat-out stunning, barely a love handle to pinch on him, and even now, something in Aziraphale’s head whispered doubt from time to time -

_ You’re not good enough for him. _

_ Weren’t all your previous partners fat and hairy like you? _

_ He’s only into you because he can’t see you. _

He had felt positively  _ awful  _ after that last devastating earworm.

What luck, then, that Crowley fought against the negativity in his mind on almost a nightly basis, with a glaring transparency, and slowly, Aziraphale learned to disregard the doubt. It was hard to dislike how you looked when your gorgeous, golden-hearted boyfriend fervently worshipped you, both in and outside of the bedroom. His favourite thing to do was bite Aziraphale’s  _ belly,  _ for Heaven’s sake. Sometimes Aziraphale wondered if he ever  _ wouldn’t  _ have hickeys around his hips, but seeing them always did give him a smug sense of satisfaction, a physical mark of his love’s desire. 

And now, his shift was over. He’d closed up, showered and changed, and was back at Crowley's flat, the sun peeking out one last time over the horizon as...

"Oh…"

"Mm. That's it. Like that."

_ "Angel -" _

They were chest to chest, Crowley straddling Aziraphale's lap in bed, face buried in white-blonde curls as he rode Aziraphale's cock, and somewhere within the whispers of  _ fuck, angel  _ and  _ oh, yes  _ and  _ don't stop  _ there was another frantic plea that he wasn't quite sure he'd heard right at first -

_ "Move in with me." _

Aziraphale gasped. Surely that couldn't have been - but Crowley kept moving those delightful, snake-like hips and grinding their bodies together and Aziraphale was matching him thrust for thrust and - and -

"Oh god, oh fuck, there, there,  _ there -!"  _ Crowley's voice grew taut as he grabbed himself, back arching, fingers of his free hand digging into Aziraphale's shoulder. He came with breathy, staccato cries, lashing their torsos with streaks of his completion, and Aziraphale toppled backwards with Crowley still writhing atop him, hips slamming up-up-up - and holding firm, save for a soft tremble, as his climax pulsed in a satisfying rhythm, emptying himself into his lover with a low groan.

For several blissful seconds, they were quiet, save for their harsh breathing, winding down from their high. Then Crowley leaned down, nudged his head against Aziraphale's, muttering, "Jesus Christ...”

"No need to bring him into it, dear," Aziraphale chided softly. 

Crowley grinned and pecked Aziraphale with a clumsy kiss that landed just by his nose. He shifted in place, muscles clenching around Aziraphale, before easing himself up gingerly and flopping onto his back on the bed. "I'm beat, angel."

"Mm. Me, too." Aziraphale rose back into a sitting position and reached for the packet of wipes in the bedside drawer, plucking out a couple to dab himself clean with. He offered them to Crowley, who only gave a sleepy murmur and closed his eyes; tutting fondly, Aziraphale wiped the flat, delicious expanse of Crowley’s stomach himself. 

His focus dropped lower, between thighs still spread and slack, the barest hint of dampness there, and he bit his lip. No, he’d save that for afterwards. He tossed the used wipes away and settled cross-legged by Crowley’s head, carefully venturing a hand into his hair to pet his lovely auburn curls.

"Anthony, darling?"

"Yeah?" Crowley nudged his head into Aziraphale’s hand with a happy sigh.

"Did you just ask me to move in with you?"

Crowley froze in place. "Ngk." 

Aziraphale's petting stilled around the same time his heart skipped several beats. "You  _ did,”  _ he breathed, and a powerful thrill zipped up his spine and nosedived into his stomach as a slow smile spread across his face.

"I didn't - you don't - " Crowley stammered and floundered. Suddenly he was scrambling away and wedging himself up against the headboard in clear distress. Alarmed, Aziraphale reached for him, thought better of it an instant later, dropped his hands back down to his lap. "S-Sorry, angel. I didn't mean to - heat of the moment - being stupid -" 

_ “Anthony.” _

Crowley stopped rambling, eyes flickering in the direction of Aziraphale's sharp voice, chest still rising and falling with rapid, panicking breaths. “Y-Yeah?”

“Can I approach?” 

Crowley needed space when he felt uncomfortable, as Aziraphale had found out two months into their relationship (an argument in which Crowley lost his temper, had a panic attack, threw a potted plant, then locked himself in the bedroom, all in the space of three minutes). His love, he had discovered, became rather flighty when provoked, like a startled deer, and prone to bolting if not handled with care. 

He waited patiently for Crowley’s response, and when it came, just a brief nod, Aziraphale slid further up the bed and touched Crowley’s hand, inviting him closer if he wished. He did, and nestled into Aziraphale’s side almost instantly, hair falling in a curtain to hide his face as he buried himself in Aziraphale’s soft warmth. 

“Sorry, angel,” Crowley murmured. “Caught me unawares.”

“I daresay you did the same to me,” smiled Aziraphale, swiftly resuming his loving combing of fingers through Crowley’s hair. Save for having the ends trimmed, he'd been letting it grow out into long, luscious ringlets, that Aziraphale positively  _ adored. _

"Listen, dear...we’ve had some marvellous news today, which upsets my living arrangements a little, but please don’t think that you...I mean, you’ve said it yourself, I can be a...a bit of a nightmare -”

“That’s putting it lightly.”

“Hush a moment.” Aziraphale swatted his shoulder. “All I’m saying is, darling, you’re under no obligation to take me in. I’m quite happy to search for somewhere to live, so I won’t be under your feet all the -”

“I want you to.”

“Hm?”

Crowley lifted his head. “I want you to,” he repeated. “Be under my feet. Be a nightmare. All that. Want you close by, angel, all of you.” 

A soft smile tugged at Aziraphale's lips. He brushed tender fingers over Crowley's jaw, smile widening when his love leaned into it, nuzzling his fingers not unlike a cat would. "You're telling me that you want my organised chaos in your home full-time."

"Yup."

"My copious unattended mugs of tea from whenever my attention has wandered elsewhere."

"Mmhm."

"My stacks of books, my piles of documents -"

"I'll make you an office space, one you can clutter up to your heart's content, anything, angel, anything."

Aziraphale thumbed Crowley's cheek, eyes soft. "Why?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you?" Crowley grumbled.

"Humour me."

"Because I love you, idiot. And..." Crowley ducked his head, hair obscuring his face again, "I miss you. When you're not here. S'not the same without you."

"Oh, darling..."

"You're messy, yeah," Crowley shrugged. "I've lost count of the times I've tripped over your shit. I've barely room for my stuff because you've hogged it all with your bloody books. I made a specific space for your clothes to go, and I still somehow pull _your_ shirts out half the time when I get dressed, and I'm too lazy to change. D'you know my students haven't let me live down the time I rocked up to a seminar wearing fucking _argyle?_ I don't even remember what argyle looks like anymore!"

Aziraphale had to laugh at that. He'd looked so cute in that sweater vest, and it smelled like him for days afterwards.

"And yet...I've never been happier, angel. I get to wake up to  _ you,  _ every morning that you're here, and I look forward to it every time, knowing how good I've got it, how I can spoon up behind you and kiss your shoulder and hear those gorgeous, sleepy sounds you make, and fall in love all fucking over again. You've made me soft, Aziraphale - and I wouldn't have it any other way. So fuck my thoughts on your clutter, and move in with me. Please."

Rarely lost for words though Aziraphale was, he nevertheless found himself lost now. Tears pooled in his eyes, Crowley's heartfelt words an almost painful tug in his chest. To have this wonderful, smart, quick-thinking man, so full of love and wisdom to give to the world, all to himself...oh, it was almost too much to bear. 

He took Crowley's hand. "This won't be too fast for you?" he asked, softly.

"Nah," replied Crowley. "I mean, look how quick we hit it off, back at the start of things."

"Yes," Aziraphale mused, "I suppose I...I did rush things a bit. Was that too much? _ " _

Crowley's responding laugh was rich and mirthful, full of amused joy. "You kidding me, angel?" he grinned. "You asked me on a date right off the bat, without mentioning my eyes. Hottest shit I've ever seen, that. I was head over heels from the off. Arse over elbow. Smitten. All of it."

_ "Arse over elbow?" _

"Don't gimme that, Mr Tickety-Fucking-Boo." They bumped shoulders and traded a few giggles before settling again. "So?" he asked, squeezing Aziraphale's hand. "Will you?"

A stab of loathsome doubt wormed into Aziraphale's thoughts.  _ He doesn't really want this. He'll get bored of you soon enough… _

He told it to fuck right off.

"Yes. Yes, I will."

Their lips met in a sweet and tender kiss, full of promise, of looking to what was yet to come, pasts and presents blending towards a future united. Not all of it could be labelled with certainty, but...

"Might I, ah...clean you up, dear?"

"Sure, where d'you want me?"

"On your front, I think."

...Aziraphale could not deny, as he bent his head to fulfil his task, that wherever they might be...so long as they were together...he had found his forever home in Anthony J Crowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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